Lux in Tenebris Lucet: Renovatur
by Quatermass
Summary: (REWRITE!) One was a disturbed girl with horrifying power. The other was a boy, kept unaware of his fame and treated like excrement. Chance brings them together. Hardship keeps them together. With their power, they will shake the foundations of Magical Britain. Hogwarts, beware. When the time comes, Harry Potter is bringing his first friend Alma Wade along for the ride.
1. Foreword

**FOREWORD**

You can always do better. Words for any decent writer to live by. I feel it when I write my non-fanfic works. I should feel it with my fanfic. I got carried away with the success of my most popular fanfic series, _The Cetra Heritage Saga_ , that I thought I could do no wrong.

To be fair, the original version of _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_ was a good story. It wasn't a bad one by any means. But when one reviewer pointed out that I was taking away almost everything that made Harry Potter badass in the books, well, it threw me into a crisis. I wanted to do both Harry and Alma justice. The point of _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_ was Harry redeeming Alma. But it was almost at the expense of weakening Harry too much.

In addition, I had recently finished a playthrough of the first _F.E.A.R_ game. While the Alma of the original _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_ and the Alma from _F.E.A.R_ could have been the same person, I realised that I was missing a lot. The Alma of my story was perhaps too wordy, too Attic when she needed to be laconic. And there were the Nightmares, which are summoned by Alma. Are they living embodiments of Alma's darker parts of her psyche? And I thought it was perhaps too much of an arsepull to have Alma somehow connect to Harry, without any real explanation. I decided to write in such an explanation, or at least a slightly less inexplicable one. It is a bit contrived, but as I have mentioned before, aren't many a crossover.

I had to sit down, and think very hard about how to do this story right. I've decided to abandon the flashback conceit of the original story.

It's probably worth noting that this is actually the third version of the story. I began with a second version, but that went nowhere, and this version will be somewhat different from the original version of _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_. I've given it the subtitle of _Renovatur_ , or 'reborn' in Latin (I've probably got the wrong tense, though), to distinguish it from the original work.

Now, some disclaimers and warnings. First off, this is an M-rated fanfic. And given that this is based on _F.E.A.R_ , horror, blood, swearing, and very disturbing concepts are givens.

Secondly, spoilers are abundant for both _Harry Potter_ and _F.E.A.R_. If you don't want to be spoiled, turn back now.

Thirdly, I am annotating this work. You don't like that? Tough.

Finally, the following is a fan-written work. _Harry Potter_ and _F.E.A.R_ are the properties of their respective owners. Please, support the official release. Otherwise, ATC will be knocking on your door. Sorry, knocking DOWN your door…


	2. Interval 1: Meeting

**INTERVAL 1:**

 **MEETING**

It was a desolate little place, a fairly bleak hill with a single tree, where some enterprising adult had put a swing. And on that swing, a girl sat, swinging the swing back and forth. The girl appeared to be about seven years old, with long black hair, and wearing a dark red dress, the colour of blood. Not a very unusual sight, one would think.

But appearances, as the old cliché went, can often be deceiving.

Walking nervously up the hill was a boy a little younger than the girl. Like her, he had black hair, messy and untameable. He seemed thin, thinner than he should have perhaps. Scrawny and short, with glasses, and a distinctive scar, shaped like a lightning bolt, marring his forehead. His eyes were verdant green, and glittered with nervousness.

He didn't quite understand what was going on. For some reason, his uncle took the whole family to the US, and couldn't get anyone to look after him. So while his uncle spoke with some higher-ups in this big company they were in, he was told to go elsewhere and not cause trouble. It was that nice lady, the older one, who had told him to go here.

The girl stopped swinging on the swing as he approached. And then, she suddenly turned her head to look at him, over her shoulder. Her skin was pale, even grey, and she was still, unnaturally so. Glowing orange eyes regarded him from a rather impassive, if pretty, face.

For a moment, they watched each other, before Harry broke the silence. "H-h-hello," he stammered.

Once more, silence reigned for perhaps too long. Then, he heard her speak, her voice hissing out of the air, echoing. _Who are you?_

"I-I-I'm Harry Potter," he stammered. Why was this girl so frightening? Why did she frighten him more than the Dursleys? Was it that she seemed to speak without moving her lips? Her unsettling appearance? Her penetrating gaze, like she knew everything about him?

She regarded him for a moment more, before she got off the swing, and approached him, skipping lightly. It was a strangely normal bit of locomotion for the girl, and yet, it still unnerved Harry. She stopped in front of him, and peered at him. _Alma Wade_ , she said. Her lips didn't so much as move, and yet, her voice slid into his mind. Her voice was quiet and eerie, with a faint echo to it.

"H-h-h-hello, Alma. The nice lady said I could come here to play. Her name was Genevieve?"

Alma stared at him, impassively. Her scrutiny with those glowing orange eyes after he said that proved uncomfortable. She didn't even blink. It felt like she was a scientist, examining every detail of a rather unpromising biological specimen. Like every second of his life was on display to the girl in the red dress.

Eventually, she reached out a pale arm. _Do you want to play?_ she asked.

Timidly, Harry nodded. But in doing so, he got his first friend.

* * *

Genevieve Aristide would do many things for her position at Armacham. But dealing with someone like Vernon Dursley was proving to be extraordinarily trying. The man was like a belligerent, blustering walrus, with no grace, no charm, and no subtlety. He was shrewd, true, or else he wouldn't have risen as far as he did in his pissy little company back in Britain. But he had little else going for him.

And he had a small mind to boot. Which, ironically, would make it easier for her to get what she wanted.

"Mr Dursley," she said, after they had finished discussing other matters. "I am curious as to how you acted towards your nephew."

"Him? Good for nothing…brat," he said. She noted that he seemed to stop himself from using another term. Probably freak, if her reading of the man was any good. "His parents were lazy bludgers, layabouts on the dole. I have to force him to do his chores."

Genevieve bit back a snort. She had met the child of this man, Dudley, and he was spoiled rotten. Not so much a walrus as a baby whale…with the wife being more like a horse. At the very least, Dudley probably did little in the way of chores, while the nephew probably shouldered a lot more. Given the way the nephew acted towards his uncle, she reckoned that there was probably more than mere favouritism. Neglect, if not psychological and physical abuse…

…Which meant that she had a lot more to work with, it seemed.

"I'm not a fool, Mr Dursley," Genevieve said. "I am also considerably well-informed. Your nephew is one Harry Potter, known to wizards and witches the world over as the Boy Who Lived."

She had her back to him, and smirked as she heard him choke on a cup of coffee he had been sipping from when she made that announcement. She turned back, and smiled at him, even as he tried to mop at the coffee now staining his suit. She could sense the coming question on his lips, psychic powers unnecessary, so she said, smoothly, "To answer your coming question, Mr Dursley, I have as much magic as you do, which is to say none whatsoever. I am no witch. I am what is called a Squib. A person without magic born to those with it. My status brought shame upon my family, and I was cast out. Many Squibs are forced to claw their way up through normal society with little to no knowledge of how your world works. Many, understandably, are filled with resentment towards those who look down on us for being as normal as you are."

Vernon nodded hastily in agreement that was as sincere as it was obsequious. Fool. She took him in with her talk of being as normal as he was. Not that she actually told a lie. She was a Squib, abandoned in disgrace from her family. While American Squibs tended to be better off than in Britain, it was still a shameful status in magical society. Genevieve was very much a self-made woman.

And she did feel much resentment towards her family and her kind. For all that Magical America trumpeted that it was more progressive than its European counterparts, in truth, in many ways, it was more backward(1).

But she was not a normal person, nor did she intend to be. She sneered equally at Muggle and Magical alike. Both were so petty, so small-minded, so stupidly alike despite the difference magic made. What was Voldemort but the magical equivalent of a Neo-Nazi terrorist? And for a Pureblood to marry a Muggleborn often provoked reactions similar to how mixed-race marriage in America would have been treated not so long ago.

She, however, had ambition. Had she gone to Hogwarts (which was virtually impossible, given that she was both a Squib and an American), she would have gone instantly to Slytherin. Then again, her ambition was truly ignited by her family casting her out, something she had now gotten just and due retribution for. And after a long period of working her way up to the top, she was now in a position where she could get what she truly wanted.

To that end, she had done research, and had invited the Grunnings drill manufacturer to send their manager as a representative. She had even suggested the man make a family holiday of it, no expenses spared. The greedy pig snapped up the chance ridiculously quick. And even better, he had brought his nephew along for the ride.

Oh, Armacham did certainly need drills, and Grunnings' drills were top quality, of good enough value to justify importing them. But it was Harry Potter who was the prize. And Genevieve Aristide had enough money and clout to make it happen.

Not that she was going to tell Vernon Dursley that. "Actually, as it happens, it's something of a happy accident that you brought your nephew. Armacham has a number of R&D wings, and one of them, I intended to devote to researching the biological origins of magic. Though I hate using such a term as magic, so unscientific."

Once more, Dursley nodded in imbecilic and obsequious agreement. The man was a fool, easily led around if you told him the right things. Much like the rest of humanity, Magical or Muggle.

"I thought that, while you are here, I can do some research on Harry. He will be treated well, and you will be compensated for your trouble," Genevieve said.

Predictably, at the word 'compensation', Dursley's eyes began glittering with greed. "When do you want to start?"

"Once you return to your hotel, you may leave him here, at least until it is time to go back to England," she said smoothly.

"A pity I couldn't sell the little freak to you," he muttered, a crudely calculating look in his eyes.

 _I'd buy him, if I could guarantee that you could keep your mouth shut, or that you can't succumb to Legilimency, which I know you can't on both accounts_ , Genevieve thought. _Besides, it'd be a waste of money_.

Out loud, she said, "But that is highly illegal, Mr Dursley. Besides, he _is_ your nephew, after all."

He grunted. _Like a pig_ , she thought with contempt she worked hard to conceal…

* * *

Harry had rarely played with anyone beforehand, thanks to his cousin Dudley, who scared off many potential friends. It was either through physical intimidation, or else dripping poison into the ears of kids, who would see him as a freak. It didn't help that his aunt and uncle also poisoned the minds of many they knew in Little Whinging, who in turn warned their children and friends with children to avoid the freak. Not that Harry realised this consciously per se, but he did comprehend it on some level.

So to play with Alma Wade was a relatively novel experience. They had taken turns in pushing each other on the swing. Such a simple little pastime, and yet…they enjoyed it nonetheless.

Harry found it hard to tell whether Alma was enjoying herself at first, until she began humming a strange, ethereal tune. It was a bit disturbing, but he was getting the feeling that the girl was enjoying herself for the first time in a very long time. He certainly was. He did get a disturbing vibe from the girl, like she was a human-shaped vessel of darkness, of fear and loathing and anger, but conversely, she also gave off something vaguely welcoming to him now. It was certainly much better than anything he had felt from anyone else, save for a few well-intentioned teachers. And they had left not long after they tried to do something about it.

There were a number of reasons for this state of affairs at the school, of course. One of them was the old school tie. The principal of Little Whinging Primary was a good friend of Vernon Dursley back from Smeltings, Vernon's old boarding school, who replaced any teachers who wouldn't follow the party line. The principal, quite frankly, was only interested in administering the school for the prestige it brought him. He didn't care about the children under his care, and indeed, believed that a little bullying and beating was good for the old moral fibre. Which is ironic, considering that he was a man who had a dearth of moral fibre. And he also thought it was good for a rather Darwinian form of survival. He had, after all, been through one of the more vicious public schools in the world.

And if one Harry Potter got the wrong end of the stick? The boy's parents were apparently good-for-nothing drunkards who deserved their car crash fate. A pity the boy didn't join them in death. And if the principal had known and believed what had really happened? He still wouldn't have given a shit. For a man lacking morals, he believed in the Bible, and would have pointed to the verse that said 'suffer not a witch to live'(2).

Another reason, and all the more tragic because it was originally intended for Harry's protection, were some charms designed to obscure him. Harry was made relatively below notice by spells cast by a certain Albus Dumbledore. Done with the best of intentions, but with unforeseen consequences. It meant that Harry's situation was usually ignored.

Another reason working against Harry was his personality. He was somewhat quiet and withdrawn, and, despite both his scar and the vicious rumours his relatives spread about him, often fell beneath notice. He liked it this way. It was usually when people noticed him that things tended to go wrong.

And yet, it didn't feel that way with Alma Wade. It felt like, despite their brief time together, they had already forged a bond.

So when his uncle waddled up the hill, the woman Genevieve not far behind, his heart sank, knowing that his time with Alma was about to come to an abrupt end.

Or so he thought.

"Boy," growled Vernon Dursley. "You will be staying here at Armacham for a few days. We will come back for you before we go back to England." He said this in a tone that brooked no argument whatsoever, not to mention wishing he could leave him here. "You will be staying with Miss Aristide."

Harry didn't protest. That had been all but beaten out of him. And to tell the truth, he wished they would leave him here, with Alma. He would rather be here, where someone had actually wanted to play with him.

He didn't miss the look Alma gave his uncle as he waddled off. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, just enough to be noticeable. Given how impassive she had been before, she may have well growled.

He felt a shiver down his spine. Something told him he would never see his uncle again. And while he didn't know it yet, he was right…

 **INTERVAL 1 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **Greetings, and welcome to the new version of** ** _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_** **. Now, it's not all new: sharp-eyed followers of the original will notice that much of Harry and Alma's original meeting was copied and pasted from the original story (I do that a lot in my writing when I do multiple drafts, though this is the first time I've done so for a fanfic). I did change more than a few things from that original meeting, as you'll have noticed. I was inspired to have Alma be a bit more impassive by a cinematic I watched from** ** _F.3.A.R_** **with the kid versions of the Point Man and Fettel, along with what I've played of** ** _F.E.A.R 2_** **.**

 **The opening tone of the story is somewhat darker too, particularly the look into Harry's childhood. That whole thing about the headmaster being an old chum of Vernon's was something I'm pretty sure I read in another fanfic, so it's fanon, not canon, but it is plausible.**

 **I'm actually considering whether to bash Dumbledore or not in this version of** ** _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_** **. Considering a lot of my Harry Potter fanfics go out of their way to reconstruct Dumbledore rather than bash him, it might be interesting to go the other way as an experiment.**

 **1\. One thing that annoys me about many a Harry Potter fanfic is that magical society in other countries, including the US, is automatically better than in the UK. This is me flipping that concept the bird.**

 **2\. I thought the relevant quote was in Leviticus, but it's actually Exodus 22:18. A quote about banning witchcraft and the like** ** _is_** **in Deuteronomy. I consider myself a misotheist, but even so, the principal is obviously an extreme case. That being said, to paraphrase a line from** ** _Red Dwarf_** **, far too often people use religion as an excuse to be really crappy to each other.**


	3. Interval 2: Disclosing

**INTERVAL 2:**

 **DISCLOSING**

When his uncle left, Harry was taken by Genevieve away from the hill. Alma followed not far behind. They were led to a building complex, and Alma was told by Genevieve to wait for her father. The girl stared impassively at Genevieve, but did as she was told.

As they walked down corridors, Genevieve said, "Alma is something of a disturbed child. Many find her disquieting. But she seems to like you well enough. Anyone she doesn't like…well, let's just say that she doesn't have many friends."

"Neither do I," Harry murmured.

"Well, I hope that can change," Genevieve said, as she led him down corridors. Eventually, they got to a room where a man was waiting impatiently.

"Aristide, I am still in the middle of…" He stopped speaking when he saw Harry, before saying, "I have better things to do than meet another kid."

"Harlan, sit down, and shut up. This is as much for your benefit as it is Harry's," Genevieve said. "Project Hecate is finally on the cards."

The man blinked. He had a prominent nose, glasses, and a moustache. He was dressed in a lab coat. "What? You still going on about that fairy tale?"

"Yes, I am. Now, let me speak to Harry. You listen. Are we clear? You deal with Project Origin and all that entails, and yet Project Hecate is beyond your ability to believe?"

"You've made your point," Dr Wade muttered, a little sullenly. Harry didn't understand what was going on, so he looked to Genevieve.

The woman smiled. "Harry Potter, this is Doctor Harlan Wade, one of my chief researchers. He is also Alma's father."

"Hello, Dr Wade," Harry said. "Your daughter is…nice."

For a moment, Dr Wade blinked at Harry in some confusion, before he said, "I am glad to hear you say it, Harry. And Harlan will do. You seem like a good kid."

Praise and flattery was mostly alien to Harry, so he smiled at Wade's compliment. The fact that there was more than a little sincerity in it didn't hurt.

"Now, Harry," Genevieve said kindly, "what do you know about your parents?"

Harry, for a moment, was dumbstruck. Nobody had ever asked him about his parents. The few times he had been told about them by his aunt and uncle, he was told that they were no-good layabouts and drunks, who had perished in the car crash that had given him his scar. Eventually, and rather nervously, believing he was being tested somehow, he said, "They died in a car crash…and my aunt and uncle don't like them." _They don't like me either_ , he left unsaid. He left a lot unsaid.

"Well, your aunt and uncle lied to you, Harry," Genevieve said. "Your parents were actually murdered. Even if they didn't want to tell you the whole truth, which is understandable, they could have said that your parents died as heroes, fighting against a terrorist, an evil, evil man who hated people like your mother." From her suit, Genevieve plucked a carved stick, which tapered to a point. "Go on, pick it up, and wave it…at the wall."

Harry, tentatively, did as he was bid, only for the wall to suddenly become covered with flowers, seemingly growing out of the very wall itself. Harlan Wade's eyes widened, and so did Harry's, who dropped the stick…no, magical wand, he realised. Like wizards and witches used.

"Had Harlan or I tried that, nothing would have happened. I know for a fact that your aunt and uncle don't like you because you are different, because you have a power they can never have, something that they envy you for. That's why they didn't tell you anything about your heritage, because that envy fuels hatred. You're a _wizard_ , Harry."

In the silence that followed, Harlan muttered, "I need a fu… _freaking_ drink."

"Later, Harlan," Genevieve said.

Eventually, Harry found his voice. "Genevieve," he said, her name still sounding alien to his mouth (she had insisted she call him Genevieve when they first met, instead of Miss Aristide), "I can't be a wizard."

"Can't you? Don't you believe that magic exists, especially not after doing that with my mother's old wand?" Genevieve stood, walked over to the wand, picked it up, and then waved it at the flower-covered wall, while saying " _Finite_." Nothing happened. She then handed it to Harry. "Try it again."

Harry eyed the wand dubiously, as if afraid it would bite, but waved it at the wall, though he didn't try to copy her incantation. The flowers nonetheless vanished.

"Very good, Harry. You're very young, but already, I can tell that you're a powerful wizard for your age," Genevieve said with a rueful smile. "But then again, that's probably what's expected from the Boy Who Lived."

"Boy Who…what?"

"I will explain. You might find it hard to believe, but I assure you, it's all true…"

* * *

Harry did find it hard to believe, though some things fit. How his parents were magical, how they fought against an evil wizard by the name of Voldemort, how they had been murdered by him, and how Harry had, somehow, survived being killed by the lethal Unforgivable Curse, the Killing Curse _Avada Kedavra_. The only person to survive being hit by the curse, and with only his scar to show for it. He had become famous as the Boy Who Lived.

Eventually, he asked, "Why did Voldemort want me dead?"

Genevieve shrugged. "Probably wasn't anything personal. Your parents were well-known for opposing Voldemort. That made them targets. I reckon he tried to kill you because he thought, if you lived, you might try to take revenge. Also, keep in mind that Voldemort was a blood purity fanatic."

"Blood…purity…fanatic?" Harry asked. He didn't quite understand.

Genevieve sighed, before she explained. "Wizards and witches set a lot of store by their breeding, where their family comes from. Your father came from a Pureblood family, one that had been filled with wizards and witches for generations. But your mother came from a family with no known magic in it. That classifies her as a Muggleborn, though the blood purists have a slur for that: Mudblood. A Muggle, by the way, is the term for a person with no magical ability. Harlan would be considered a Muggle. A child born of a Muggleborn and a Pureblood is called a Half-Blood. Finally, there are those with no magic, save for an ability to see magical things otherwise concealed from Muggles. They are called Squibs. I am a Squib. Voldemort felt that Muggleborns should be exterminated, as well as any who supported them, and Muggles be treated like animals."

"Sounds like a Neo-Nazi terrorist," Harlan muttered.

"You're not far off the mark," Genevieve said. "Perhaps the most infamous European Dark lord before Voldemort, Grindlewald, was an ally of Adolf Hitler. In any case, Voldemort was insane. Intelligent and charismatic, but insane. Incidentally, he's become so feared, especially in Britain, that most people won't speak his name, usually calling him You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He was feared for his power, and rightly so for much of his reign, but he brought it to a whole new level with a Taboo curse on his name: anyone who spoke it would have his followers appear and attack them."

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear?" Harlan asked.

"You could say that."

"But…he's dead, isn't he?" Harry asked.

"Most people think so…" Genevieve said. "But I heard rumours that the man was obsessed with immortality. A few people believe that he wasn't human enough to even die anymore. I know of a few ways he could have gained immortality, or something like it. All of them vile."

"But…why did I get left with…my aunt and uncle?" Harry asked, hesitantly.

"I can hazard a few guesses. I know a little of your family, and I know that there was at least one other person who could have been your guardian. However, Sirius Black is widely considered to be the man who betrayed your parents to Voldemort, and he was found having apparently killed a dozen Muggles, plus another man called Peter Pettigrew. From all accounts, Black was close to your father, so it is strange that he turned traitor. But it's still possible. Or perhaps he was forced into betraying your parents. Of course, it may be that it was as simple as the fact that your aunt and uncle were your closest family. Maybe the fact that they were Muggle was a way to hide you from the magical world. Your fame has made you many enemies…as well as people who may want to exploit you."

"I…see," Harry said, although he didn't quite understand. He was too young to, after all.

"I had to leave the magical world behind because of my family," Genevieve said, "but that doesn't mean I will forget it. I'm curious about how magic is passed through families, how it originates in the body. Armacham is a leader in biotechnology…by which I mean we make medicines, and try to understand the way the human body works. And to learn how magic works…well, I persuaded your uncle to allow me to investigate that. Nothing that will hurt you, save for taking some blood for tests. Truth be told, I was thinking you could stay with Harlan and his daughter for a few nights. Especially as you seem to get along well with Alma."

Harry nodded, before asking, "Is she…like me?"

Genevieve and Harlan exchanged looks, with Genevieve finally nodding. But not to Harry. Harlan said, "Not exactly. Alma is a psychic, an esper. She can read minds and speak directly to someone's mind. Unfortunately, that also means she's rather sensitive to negative thoughts. So she doesn't have many friends. Her appearance doesn't do her any favours either."

Harry nodded. He had been called a freak often enough by his relatives, even though, scar aside, he looked normal. Alma actually looked very different, with her grey skin and orange eyes. He could only imagine the horrid names she must be called. And that was without going into her rather cold demeanour, though she had, to a degree, loosened up around him in their brief time spent together.

"But I think she could do with a friend like you," Harlan said. "If she has been nice to you, then that's really something. My daughter, as I said, doesn't have many friends. Hell, even if you go back to England, you can still send letters."

"Maybe…but my aunt and uncle might just tear them up," Harry said morosely.

Harlan and Genevieve exchanged looks again. "I will talk to them about that," Genevieve said.

Harry didn't have much hope for that to happen. Even at his young age, he knew that his relatives were spiteful and petty, even if he didn't have the vocabulary to describe such things. Despite Alma's strangeness and her cold demeanour, he would prefer to live with her and her father than another day with the Dursleys. His aunt and uncle wouldn't listen to Genevieve. He knew that much.

* * *

Harlan Wade badly needed a drink. He had more than enough headaches dealing with a psychic daughter who had night terrors, and often inflicted night terrors on other people. Now, he had to deal with that withered bitch Genevieve Aristide's deluded tales of magic turning out to be not-so deluded after all. He had just seen magic performed in front of him, and by a six year old boy who looked younger, and who was, at least, psychologically abused by his relatives. Oh, and his parents were murdered by a magical Neo-Nazi with a ridiculously portentous and pretentious name.

Genevieve had summoned a security guard to take Harry to Alma, and was now looking at Harlan expectantly. "Well?" she asked.

"What do you want me to say? 'Sorry, you were right, and I was wrong'?"

"That would be nice, Harlan, but actually, I want to know something a bit more practical. Do you think you can work on Project Hecate, now that you have seen that it is more than a pipe dream?"

Harlan rubbed his moustache pensively. "I'd need the best of equipment. Though knowing you, you've already got it."

"Over the years, yes. It was some difficulty getting EM shielded equipment." When he looked at her, startled, she said, "Electronics tend to be affected by magic. From what little I know, magic can sometimes cause an EMP. This is part of the reason why much of the magical world is stuck in the Middle Ages. Of course, their attitudes don't help matters."

"A rather expensive investment, considering that this kid is only going to be with us for a few days," Harlan said.

"True. But we can learn a lot in even just a few days. Besides…we could get lucky."

Harlan didn't like the way she said that last sentence. In fact, it sounded very much like she knew that one way or another, Harry would not be going back to the Dursleys…

 **INTERVAL 2 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **It was a bit hard trying to write much of this chapter from the point of view of a young Harry, aged six. It's harder than you'd think, trying to write from the viewpoint of a kid, especially at that age.**

 **No numbered annotations. Sorry.**


	4. Interval 3: Executing

**INTERVAL 3:**

 **EXECUTING**

Alma stared at the boy who, somehow, had managed to capture her attention. He was…unpromising, at first glance. He was definitely no psychic, though there was still something about him that smelt of something not unlike one. And yet, when he had reached out to her, in genuine need of company, something within her soul was touched. If she could have had any interest in metaphysics, she may have been surprised to even find she had a soul, never mind find that anything could touch it.

He had been told about her true nature, it seemed, by her father and Aristide. She didn't like the latter woman: too good at hiding her thoughts. He had, albeit hesitantly, said she could look in his mind if she wanted. So she did.

His mind, or at least his memory, was not that interesting. She had seen variations of his memories before. But his situation reminded her of her own plight. She was kept in a cell during her worst episodes. Caged because of envy and fear of their power.

For there was power within him, of some sort. She could sense it. And like her, there was a darkness within him.

That these animals treated him like that…it reminded her somewhat of her own life, only Harry didn't fight back. He wasn't psychic, or at least not on the same level as she was. She did note the curious reactions his relatives had to the word magic. And they had called him freak. It had even been his name until school, and they told him his real name.

Alma Wade knew anger, and she knew hatred. The boy, while he did hate his relatives, and felt angry and bitter towards them, was more afraid of them than anything else. But there was something else that called out to her. The desire for a friend.

Alma didn't have friends during her experience. She didn't quite have the knack. Of course, being part of Project Origin scuppered that. And those scientists, looking upon her as an experimental subject at best, and at worst, a monster…oh, they _claimed_ otherwise, but their thoughts didn't lie.

Harry was frightened of her. They all had been, even the kids who were part of Project Origin. But he was far more earnest than anyone else she had encountered. And that had gotten through to Alma where hollow praise and insincere encouragement hadn't. And she felt his desire for a friend, a desire she herself possessed, but had never acknowledged until now.

There was something else about him, though. Something that disturbed Alma, and there were few things that could truly disturb her. She could sense something dark, leeching off him. And it seemed centred around his scar…

* * *

Harlan rubbed at his moustache as he strode down the corridor. He saw Harry sitting next to his daughter, a bit nervous, but his daughter seemed fine with his proximity. Which was very unusual: she hated people getting close to her most of the time. Including himself.

It had been only two days since her seventh birthday, he realised. It had been a relatively muted affair, given how Alma sometimes reacted to a stray thought. He had given her a drawing book and pencils, her only present.

Harlan was disturbed at his own feelings for his daughter. He should have loved her, cared for her. But he found himself, if not actually hating her, then growing increasingly apathetic towards her. He heard the rumours about what Armacham were planning to do with Alma: he suspected he was kept out of the loop to make sure Alma didn't find out.

But to see her like this, with a friend of sorts…Harlan was actually glad for his daughter.

* * *

The next day, Vernon Dursley was more than glad that Armacham had given him a car to go to a theme park, with his wife and son. He was even more so that the freak was out of his hair, at least for a few days. A shame it couldn't go on forever. So that the freak wasn't at his home. Eating his food. The fact that he all but starved Harry, had him sleep in a cupboard, meant little to Vernon Dursley. While he claimed to want normality, what was normal to him would be considered bland and harsh by others. He wanted affluence, but in reality, he was full of effluence.

His dearest wish was to have the freak out of his home forever.

He didn't know it, but he would get his wish. Albeit in a way that he wouldn't want to. But then again, as the old cliché went, be careful what you wish for, lest you get it.

He smiled as the car brought them through the city of Fairport. He was unaware that two sets of eyes had judged him, and found him wanting. One pair was orange and glowing.

Genevieve Aristide's plan was somewhat simple. One of her drivers had terminal cancer. In exchange for a healthy benefit given to his family (one which she actually had no intention of paying, as she didn't like to waste money, or leave a possible trail back to her, though if the family demanded compensation, she might deign to give them a token amount), he would deliberately crash the car he was driving. And crash it in a way that everyone on board would die.

Alma Wade's plan was somewhat simpler. She also knew with an intelligence far beyond her years that the likelihood of her getting caught was nil. After all, how could forensic science link a powerful psychic to a car catching on fire?

Vernon Dursley's nose wasn't a particularly impressive one, being bulbous and often red or puce in colour. It also wasn't good at smelling, though he was metaphorically good at sniffing out deals for Grunnings. But ironically, he was the first to notice the smell of smoke. The driver was next. And then, so did Dudley. Ironically enough for someone whose nose was reputed to smell out anything from excrement to the latest neighbourhood rumour, Petunia Dursley took the longest to detect the smoke.

Vernon blinked. "Why do I smell smoke?" he asked, rather stupidly.

"I dunno," the driver said, looking concerned himself.

Smoke began to belch from underneath the hood of the car. Petunia and Dudley began screaming in wordless fear. Vernon, surprisingly enough, was somewhat more erudite. "What the hell is happening?!" Vernon screamed.

Before the driver could reply, his eyes widened and bulged. A choking sound writhed out of his mouth. Blood streamed from his nose, his eyes, and his ears. The car, travelling at speed down a highway, lost control promptly, and hit a concrete barrier and did a flip that would have done Hollywood and its stuntmen proud. It ended up on its roof, skidding alongside the road, trailing sparks.

Miraculously, or perhaps not so, the Dursleys were still alive. For all of their indulgence of their fat brat of a son, one thing they never budged on was seatbelts and needing them in cars. This was probably one of the few reasons none of them were a bloody mess of meat.

Then, as they hung upside down from their seatbelts, they heard a voice hiss at them, the voice of a little girl. And they saw her pale, grey face, and her orange, demonic eyes. The girl spoke only one word.

 _Burn_.

They suddenly found themselves unable to move, save to be able to scream, as the smoke from the hood suddenly became a blaze, an inferno that spread through the car with unnatural speed. The Dursleys screamed and roared in pain as the flames licked at their flesh, cooking them.

It was a horrible way to die. And they seemed to be kept alive, beyond the point where they should have died normally, like some malign entity was preserving their life, but not doing anything about the pain.

They then began to see things. Memories from Harry's life sleeted through their minds, but also someone else's life, the girl with the orange eyes. Horrid memories that only compounded the pain they were already feeling.

It took a long time for the Dursleys to be consumed by the fire. It felt like much longer for them, though.

Alma took a grim satisfaction in every second of their demise. As far as she was concerned, they deserved it.

* * *

It wasn't often that Genevieve Aristide was surprised, and to tell the truth, she didn't often like surprises. Pleasant surprises were few and far between. So when she got notified by the police about the Dursleys' car crashing and setting on fire, she frowned. She had intended for them to drive into a river or something. Had the driver gotten creative? Then again, eyewitness reports suggested that the engine started to smoke _before_ it crashed. And the fire had been of an unusual intensity. Forensics hadn't finished their investigation, but Genevieve, through her contacts, procured a copy of the initial report.

There wasn't anything definitive in the report, but even so, Genevieve found herself disturbed. Her gut was telling her that Alma had gotten involved. So she had Harlan bring the girl to her after the day's work on testing Harry.

She was glad that, once she had conceived of Project Origin, she had worked hard on her Occlumency. It was one of the few magical skills, other than Potions, that a non-magical could use. And when you're dealing with psychics, learning how to shield your mind and your private thoughts is a somewhat prudent measure. Genevieve was so good at Occlumency, even Alma couldn't penetrate her mind, an astonishing feat, given the girl's power. If Alma was the proverbial irresistible force, Genevieve was the immovable object. Of course, it also served to increase the enmity Alma had towards Genevieve. Of course, her telepathy could still be heard, but that was another matter.

Still, the little bitch was still of use. The Origin Facility and its Vault would soon be ready, and Alma would be brought to heel. Harlan's theories about psychic ability being partially passed from mother to child seemed dodgy, but regardless, Genevieve knew that if psychic ability had any genetic component, then Alma would be a useful brood mare, if nothing else.

Harlan brought Alma in. The little girl sat down in a vaguely sullen manner, and just stared at Genevieve, as was her wont to do. "Did you do this?" she indicated the photos of the crash.

Alma's eyes flickered down at the photos briefly, before they flickered up. Once more, the girl stared at Genevieve impassively.

"I asked you a question, Alma."

 _You were going to do it anyway_ , Alma said. It wasn't a denial, and coming from the usually uncommunicative Alma, it was as good as an admission. She then got off her seat, and walked away.

Genevieve tamped down her anger at the girl. Occlumency or not, the girl was still capable of pyrokinesis and some rather horrid ability that allowed her to melt the flesh off the bones of lab animals. She shuddered to think of what would happen to a human being. Marshalling herself, she said, "You now have all the time in the world to play with Harry."

Alma paused, then looked back at Genevieve. And then, that was when Genevieve got the shock of her life. Alma Wade… _smiled_. A small and twisted little thing, but genuine. Out loud, in a disused rasp of a voice, she said, "Yes." The first time in a very long time that Alma Wade had spoken out loud.

She then walked out, followed by her father, who shot a look at Genevieve, both apologetic and suspicious. As he walked through the door, Genevieve said, "It seems that Project Hecate will have more time to work with Harry. Do not squander this opportunity, Harlan."

Harlan looked back at her once more, before leaving the office. She was no psychic, but she knew what he was thinking of her, and none of it was flattering.

Of course, now the real work began. Alma's little stunt actually would work out, as there would be less of a trail leading back to Armacham. But now, Genevieve needed to make sure that Harry Potter would vanish from the world, both mundane and magical.

But she had done this before. Many a subject of Project Origin had been taken from their families. Erasing the paper trail was something she and her people were well-practised in. And she also knew enough about the Magical World to know that they often overlooked Muggle ways of finding people, or held them in contempt. She also had ways and means of shielding Harry from being tracked down.

Soon, she would have what she wanted out of Project Hecate…

 **INTERVAL 3 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **And there you have it. Harry is now stuck at Armacham. But how much of that is a bad thing, if he seems to have won the loyalty of Alma Wade?**

 **No numbered annotations this time. And it may be a while before the next chapter is out. I wanted to write at least the first few chapters before publishing this story.**


	5. Interval 4: Settling

**INTERVAL 4:**

 **SETTLING**

Harry wasn't sure what to make of the news of his relatives' death. True, they had treated him like dirt, he hated and resented them, and yet, they were all he knew, all he had known, in his short life.

Harry was too young to know the word ambivalence. But he knew what it was like to experience it. And, more importantly, he had been cast adrift, with nobody to look after him, at least until Harlan Wade had reassured him that he would be adopted by him.

Harry didn't like the tests he was given by the man, but Harlan himself was nice, more so than Genevieve. Alma didn't like either of them for some reason, but Harry liked Harlan more than Genevieve for reasons he couldn't quite describe. For all the lady's niceness, Harry was beginning to become wary of her.

But Harlan was nice. Uncle Vernon and the teachers at school were the only male role models he had had regular contact with, so Harlan's paternal air was a nice change, even if he had a bit of a potty mouth.

And Alma…Harry liked her, despite her strangeness. True, he saw a possessiveness in her, though he didn't know the word possessiveness, like he didn't know ambivalence. But there was something comforting in feeling wanted by someone, and Alma Wade was like a sister he never knew he wanted. She felt like family, and it was good to feel wanted, to feel loved by someone, even someone as strange as Alma Wade.

* * *

Harlan Wade looked over the initial results, his excitement growing with every line he scanned. It was based on four blood tests, and was only preliminary results of a series of RFLP(1) analyses, but already it was looking promising. He had already isolated at least three genes, on separate chromosomes, that were related to magic. And one of them was related to the very gene that he was certain granted Alma her psychic abilities. Which suggested psychic powers were an offshoot of magical ability, or rather, it may be the other way around. Who knew about how this sort of evolution worked?

He had obtained some information from the dried-up hag, Aristide. Apparently the mages had some psychic ability, albeit through a special technique called Legilimency. Psychic powers seemed to be a wandless, instinctive Legilimency, from what information he could get out of her.

For all the fact that Harlan Wade was a scientist, and therefore didn't normally subscribe to such unscientific terms like 'magic', exposure to Alma, and now to Harry, had loosened him up. And frankly, as much as scientists liked making sure the world fit together neatly, many also loved the thrill of discovery, of shining a torch into the darkness of the unknown, and seeing what they found. It was this that drove Harlan through his work on Project Origin, and it was this that drove him to work on Project Hecate.

A small part of him, however, questioned why Genevieve Aristide wanted this done. Having magic soldiers was certainly a boon, considering what the goal of Project Origin was considered to be. Project Origin was trying to make psychic soldiers, so why not magic soldiers as the endgoal of Project Hecate? But he got the feeling that it was more personal with Genevieve with Project Hecate.

The pieces came together in his head gradually. He devoted most of his time to analysing the results of Project Hecate anyway, so Aristide's true motivations were more of a side issue. But he soon hit upon the true solution when he remembered what she had said, back in the interview room (a couple of weeks ago, now). Like: _Finally, there are those with no magic, save for an ability to see magical things otherwise concealed from Muggles. They are called Squibs. I am a Squib_. And then, there was: _I had to leave the magical world behind because of my family, but that doesn't mean I will forget it. I'm curious about how magic is passed through families, how it originates in the body. Armacham is a leader in biotechnology…by which I mean we make medicines, and try to understand the way the human body works. And to learn how magic works…_

Harlan had a hunch. Aristide didn't want to just give a bunch of engineered soldiers magic: she wanted to give herself magic, magic that she felt her family had denied her. In the days since the revelation, she hadn't spoken much about her family, save for in scathing, contemptuous tones. Of course, given how she said Squibs were treated in magical society, it was hardly surprising. Even if you did allow for hatred and contempt to colour her view, the truth of the matter seemed to be that magical society across much of the world was stuck, psychologically as well as technologically, in Victorian times at the most recent, and in medieval times at worst.

Harlan felt some ambivalence towards giving Genevieve Aristide magical ability, if his hunch was correct. On the one hand, he could tell just by looking at Harry that magical power didn't necessarily make you a bad person, and Harlan doubted that Genevieve was going to go all Dark Lady on the world, at least not overtly. But on the other hand, while he himself lacked many scruples, he knew for a fact that Genevieve Aristide lacked many more. She may not wield her power overtly, especially so that she could avoid attention from the magical authorities, but she was still a nasty old hag already corrupted by the power she wielded within Armacham.

He was beginning to get worried whether Harry should be close to such a poisonous person. As dark as his own daughter was, she also treated Harry…well, like a human being, which was more than most. Most she treated as toys for her amusement…or insects, unworthy even of contempt. Even her fellow psychics, she treated with disdain. Harlan wasn't sure what she thought of him, but he doubted it was at all flattering.

But Harry was another matter entirely. He seemed to be a light, deep within Alma's darkness, within her insanity. A light that could be tainted by Genevieve Aristide. Harlan had no qualms about doing extensive tests on the boy, as long as he didn't arouse the wrath of his daughter, but he had qualms about the boy being enmeshed in Aristide's plans. He wasn't just a source of finding the genetic material that made magic users able to use magic. Aristide might use him as political capitol, if push came to shove: if Harry was truly as famous as Aristide claimed, then that already translated to a lot of power that could be potentially used.

Of course, it would negate Aristide's efforts to cover up Harry's presence here if she announced it, but she was a canny bitch: she could manage it if she felt it would help her cause. She had manoeuvred her way through board meetings like a shark herding a school of fish, and with much the same result: blood in the water, and a satisfied predator. She probably had plans for every contingency. He just hoped that said contingencies didn't end with his demise.

* * *

Harlan Wade would have won money, had he bet on Aristide's intentions being to reclaim the magic she believed to be her rightful inheritance. Not only that, but she didn't intend to try and rule the world, evil wizard style.

But she did intend to use magic to her advantage. Amongst Muggles, the Killing Curse would puzzle anyone in an autopsy. She had once had her best pathologists analyse the body of someone who had been hit by the Killing Curse, and found that the best they could find as a cause of death was that if, somehow, all the neural activity in the body suddenly stopped. Like there was a systemic failure of the central and peripheral nervous systems. Not only that, but the energy-converting organelles, the mitochondria, the engines of the cells, seemed to be burnt out, though that was something you could only find if you knew to look for it.

If she used it on someone she needed out of the way, then it would be the perfect murder weapon. The Muggle authorities couldn't pin it on her because they wouldn't be able to get the evidence, save for some circumstantial evidence that her lawyers could tear to shreds. The Aurors couldn't, because she was well-documented as a Squib, and no Squib, despite an array of dubious remedies that were available, could use magic. In any case, she intended to use her powers judiciously.

Always assuming that Harlan could do it. The man was a competent scientist, true, but Genevieve wanted to be absolutely sure that it was safe before she used it.

And speaking of safe…Genevieve was making plans to secure that monster of a daughter of his. The Origin Facility and the Vault within was progressing nicely. Within the Vault, a massive life-support tank with psychic insulation, Alma Wade would be imprisoned and drugged into insensibility, kept in a coma while she breathed oxygenated liquid in a grotesque mechanical parody of a womb. Once she was old enough, they would impregnate her: Harlan's research suggested that psychic ability was not just genetic, but could be passed from a mother to her child during gestation. They would artificially inseminate her like livestock, and bring her out of the tank once the child had come to term, albeit heavily sedated.

The question, then, was what to do with Harry? Would he react badly to Alma being confined? Harlan was incorrect in one of his suspicions: Genevieve had no intention of using Harry Potter as political capital. There were too many factors that could go wrong. Instead, she was strongly considering making a second Vault, one to confine the Boy Who Lived. That way, he would be a good source of genetic material for Project Hecate.

She'd get some perverse amusement out of the reaction of the idiots in Britain once they began to realise that their erstwhile saviour was missing. They built him up to be the messiah, all because of something his parents probably did. In truth, he was a timid little boy who was psychologically damaged by his relatives' dubious ministrations, probably all too eager to respond to the first bit of kindness that came his way. Genevieve had no compunctions whatsoever about using him. She intended to do what she could, and use who she had to, to get her way.

* * *

To see things from the point of view of Alma Wade is to invite darkness and madness into the soul. To put it simply, she didn't see things the way other people did. In fact, she saw the world in darker shades and hues than most people would, never mind almost anyone her age.

To her, the world was hot, putrescent, and dark. Something organic, and alive, but decaying, and shadowy. She saw the world in hues of orange and black.

That being said, one should not mistake her for being a child. While she has some of the more playful impulses of a child, and some of the emotional immaturity, she also knows things no child of her age should know. She knows intimately of the darkness within people's souls, of hypocrisy and duplicity and treachery. She knows of the fear and loathing many people hold towards her, for being what she was. Many would call her a monster. Alma had no delusions of godhood, but she certainly knew she was on a different level to the rest of humanity.

She also could analyse her desires, if she wanted to, on a level any therapist would be proud to have in a patient (though any psychoanalyst that would dare try to treat Alma Wade would be soon driven insane). And she realised that she felt possessive, even covetous towards Harry Potter.

Harry Potter…he had come and filled a void in her she never knew had existed, or at least had ignored. She hadn't had any friends, nor any desire to have any. And yet, he had become a friend, simply dropping out of the sky, so to speak. Now, he lived with her father and herself, and she sensed better thoughts coming from her father. It was a little harder to dislike her father now.

But Alma was no fool. She knew that Genevieve Aristide was up to something, though she didn't know what. The damned woman had mental barriers, Occlumency, that prevented even Alma from gaining entrance. But you didn't need to read her mind to know that she meant Alma ill. And her father, whether he wanted to or not, would be involved.

And Alma knew that Genevieve Aristide had designs on Harry Potter. Designs that Alma was determined to thwart…

 **INTERVAL 4 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **Not much to say here, save that this is the calm before the storm, so to speak. Sorry for the long time to update, I was trying to do other fanfics. Hopefully, I'll update this one a little more frequently now. Don't hold your breath, though…**

 **1\. RFLP: Restriction Fragment Length Polymorphisms. A genetic analysis technique. Nowadays, it has been mostly supplanted by other techniques, but in the Eighties, which this chapter is set in, it was probably the standard genetic analysis technique.**


	6. Interval 5: Sealing

**INTERVAL 5:**

 **SEALING**

"Harlan, this can't go on. She's too dangerous."

Harlan looked at his colleague in horror, scarcely believing the words he had just heard from him. "You're telling me to seal my daughter away," he said, incredulously, bleakly.

"You knew it would come to this. We both knew."

Wade looked away from Doctor Fettel(1). He suppressed a snarl of disgust and anger, with some difficulty. Yes, for a time, he himself had believed it to be a potential necessity that Alma be sealed away, kept comatose and isolated in a life-support tank, especially with those night terrors she had. Night terrors that took on a gruesome life of their own, beings that seemed to come out of the very air itself and attack people(2).

But even so, there was one factor that made Harlan truly hesitate in even considering this course of action any more.

Harry.

On a whim, Harlan had actually tested Alma for magical ability, and had found she actually did have some. It seemed that her powers were actually a mixture of psychic and magical powers. He kept that knowledge to himself, though, save for telling Alma, who seemed interested, but little more. And Harry had proved to be a stabilising force on Alma. For want of a better term, he kept her sane and grounded, albeit for fairly loose definitions of the term.

"Dr Fettel, had it been a year ago, I would have heartily agreed with you and that desiccated bitch's reasoning. I wouldn't have been happy, but…" Harlan shook his head. "But to do this now? Alma is becoming calmer, her night terrors aren't as bad. She is actually cooperating with the research, albeit grudgingly. And you know as well as I do the reason for that."

"The Potter boy," Fettel said, nodding.

"Yes. She is becoming less of a danger to us. But the moment she learns about the Vault and its purpose…well, she would have put up a fight before, I know that much, but now?" Harlan shook his head again. "She'd kill us all. Even if we drug her, she'll try her utmost to wipe Armacham off the map. She tolerates me, though better than usual lately, but Harry? She _loves_ him. I'm surprised she is capable of love, and it's a twisted, obsessive love, but I _know_ that she loves him. He's her best, and frankly only, friend."

"Which is why he will be joining her," Genevieve Aristide said ominously, striding in, along with a detachment of ATC security guards. "Harry Potter is too good a resource to allow to lie fallow."

Harlan realised the full import of her words, and gaped at her in sheer astonishment. "You can't mean to seal him up as well?! You could maybe justify it with Alma, given how dangerous she is, but you can't justify it with Harry!"

"I don't need to justify it to you, Harlan, or to anyone else," Genevieve said coldly. "Harry is a resource, nothing more. And I can't risk Alma reaching out to Harry and taking him over. I know they have a strong psychic bond. Harry has little such potential, but he doesn't need to with Alma being so powerful. The bond is all Alma's doing. Which means that, even once she's in the Vault, all she has to do is reach out…and take him over. I am not going to risk that. Once they are old enough, they will be sources of genetic material. I can even make sure they have children."

"Children they'd never be allowed to hold in their arms," Harlan retorted.

"Harlan, this is not up for discussion. Your qualms and opinions are irrelevant. Need I remind you who you work for? And that resignations or disobedience are not tolerated?"

" _Jawohl, Mein Fuhrer_ ," Harlan muttered darkly.

Genevieve snapped her finger, and the leader of the ATC security detachment aimed his gun at Harlan. "Your insolence is rapidly outpacing your usefulness, Harlan."

"So, what, you're going to shoot me because I have a sane response to this travesty? How petty and petulant can you get, Genevieve? You're acting like the villain from a Bond film, not the head of a corporation!"

"You forget, Harlan, you may be a good scientist, but you've made all the breakthroughs I need you for," Genevieve sneered. "There are others who can take over your work if need be. And you forget how much power Armacham has. I can make you and Alma disappear without a trace. She into the Vault…and you into a furnace."

Harlan's eyes widened in horror…and then, he heard Alma's voice in his head. It was rare that she spoke to him from afar. _Father? …What is this?_

She must be looking through his eyes as well. _Alma…take Harry, and run. Run far. Run fast_. He thought that urgently.

"What's the matter, Harlan? Cat got your tongue? Or have you finally seen sense?"

"The question is, have you?" Harlan said. "This is insane, Genevieve! There's making sure that Alma is not a danger, and then there is caging her and exploiting her like an animal! Leaving aside the moral implications, which you seem to think are irrelevant, what will happen if she ever gets let out? I mean, I presume, given your plans, that she'd have to be removed in order to give birth! What's to stop her from killing people left, right, and centre? Drugs? A lobotomy? Men with guns?" Harlan scoffed. "We're talking about a deity in the form of a girl who's just two days away from her eighth birthday. Use her as a baby factory, and we risk turning her into Nemesis, divine retribution."

Genevieve sneered. "Are you done, Harlan, or do I have to shoot you to get you to stop?"

"Do it yourself, Genevieve, you dried-up old bitch."

"Executives like me give orders. We don't get our hands dirty. Kill him."

As the security guard prepared to shoot, a nearby door opened, and Alma stepped through. As everyone turned to face her, her eyes narrowed. The guard who seemed about to shoot Harlan suddenly began to scream, melting.

"Subdue her!" Genevieve yelled. "Fettel, get the sedatives!"

As Fettel rushed to get a syringe, he was surprised to see one floating into the air. He was even more surprised when the syringe flew into his eye. But not for long. His scream was short, but filled with agony.

"Alma!" Genevieve barked. "You will cease this at once, or we will kill your father, and Harry!"

Alma merely raised a hand, and almost all of the ATC security contingent began screaming shrilly, their flesh melting off their bones. As they did so, Alma strode over to him, and held out her hand.

But even as Harlan reached out to take it, he saw Genevieve, having been spared Alma's wrath, raising a pistol, pilfered from one of the dead security guards. She was aiming it at Alma.

On a paternal instinct he didn't know he still had, he swung Alma around, placing his body between hers and Genevieve. He heard the gunshot at the same time as he felt a grotesque squeezing sensation, as if he was being forced through a pipe…

* * *

Harry, in the Wade home, was startled when, with a gunshot-like crack, Alma and Harlan appeared, Harlan clutching his daughter to his body. Only her black hair was visible, hiding her face. Then, Harry heard something he was sure he hadn't heard Alma do before, outside of her night terrors.

She was sobbing.

"There, there, Alma. Don't cry," Harlan said, gently stroking her hair, before he swayed, his eyes going dull. Alma darted out of the way as her father collapsed. Harry stared at the blood welling from a wound on his back.

"Father!" Alma yelled, out loud, her glowing orange eyes wide with dismay.

Harlan chuckled weakly. "Bitch got my abdominal aorta, I think. I'm pissing too much blood out of that wound for it to be anything else." He looked at Alma. "Did you see what they had intended for you?"

Alma shook her head.

"Then look. And make it quick."

Alma took all of a few seconds to get what she wanted. And her expression became a dead mask again. Only her orange eyes glittered with anger. "Father…they will pay," her voice said, raspy with disuse…and fury.

"No, Alma. Not yet, not now. They have countermeasures," Harlan said, before beginning to wheeze. "Run. Take Harry, and run. If you can, make it to England. If Harry is as famous as that bitch said he was…it might help."

As his breathing became laboured, Alma knelt down next to him, and put a hand on his head. "Rest in peace…Daddy."

Harlan looked up at her, and smiled. Harry knew what she was doing. She was killing him, albeit gently. Quicker than the bullet wound, despite its debilitating effect and blood loss. Within a couple of seconds, Harlan Wade breathed his last, smiling to the end.

Afterwards, Alma was very still. Unnervingly so. "What now?" Harry asked.

 _We leave. But first, a parting gift_ , Alma spoke into his mind, her voice unnaturally calm, even for her.

* * *

With her mind, Alma Wade reached out to every psychic within Armacham's research facility. It took little effort, akin to straining slightly to reach the top shelf.

The next bit took significantly more effort, taking control of all of them. Imagine having to manipulate a couple of dozen puppets, all at once. But she could do it. Harlan Wade wasn't exaggerating when he said Alma had the power of a deity locked within her young frame. All that was needed was the right key.

As she prepared her vengeful diversion, Alma reflected on her father's death. She was surprised it had affected her like it had. In fact, she didn't know what surprised her more, that her father loved her enough to die for her, or that she had actually been affected by his passing. She had given him a pleasant passing, putting images of meeting her mother on the other side in his head, and flooding his brain with as many endorphins as she could manage to make sure that he sank into oblivion without pain, only pleasure.

But she wouldn't squander the opportunity he gave her. She would linger only long enough to make sure that Armacham would be a long time cleaning up her escape. Which was why she dispassionately sent the psychics on a rampage, setting parts of the research facilities on fire, and killing anyone stupid enough to fight back. Any that wanted to escape, she let escape, if only because Harry would disapprove, otherwise. He was the one light in the darkness that was her life. And she didn't want to risk that light guttering or being extinguished.

It was the work of a minute to set back Armacham's research by years. And just in time, too, for as she withdrew from the minds of those she had used, the door to the Wade residence was broken down. She grabbed Harry, and used the same technique she had used to try and rescue her father. She didn't know it yet, but that technique had a name: Apparition. She didn't know it for sure, but she had magic.

She and Harry vanished just as the ATC security squad were raising their weapons. Genevieve Aristide, needless to say, was livid when she learned that not only had they vanished, but much of the research in Project Origin and Project Icarus had been destroyed. The same went for Project Hecate.

She cursed and swore and was determined to make them pay. But first, she had to find them. She called the police, claiming a kidnapper had abducted the two children, and had murdered their father, as well as unleashing a deadly chemical agent upon her security people. She had contacts able to smooth any difficulties over.

Once she had them in her custody, though…she would make them suffer. Especially Alma. Vicious little whore.

* * *

In a forest some way away from Fairport, two children appeared with a loud crack. Both were holding on very tightly to each other. Both had black, messy hair. One had eyes as green as the leaves around them, the other had orange, glowing ones, like the setting sun, only malevolent.

"What do we do, Alma?" Harry whispered quietly. "What do we do?"

 _We run_ , Alma said quietly.

And so began four years of uncertainty, of years on the run. They ran for a long time from one fate, little knowing that, one day, they would end up ensnared by another…

 **INTERLUDE 5 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **Well, sorry for the long wait. Hopefully, I might update a tad more frequently. Bit of a time skip for the next chapter, which will be set just before Hogwarts.**

 **Review-answering time!** **Mangahero18** **: There would have been romance when I progressed the plot of the original. In any case, this story won't have any romance for a while: Alma and Harry are too young, and the psychic bond Alma created with Harry creates a very strong bond of kinship anyway.**

 **jgkitarel** **: Well, while Alma wouldn't be that good an influence on Harry, she is actually protective of him. Murderously so. He influences her to become a better person, albeit by degrees. Yes, she's a bit** ** _yandere_** **.**

 **goodpie2** **: I've decided against the Dumbledore bashing, having found it very hard to do in my** ** _Naruto_** **crossover,** ** _Sins of the Father_** **. As for abandoning this fic, while I don't intend to, threatening to remove any vital organ is something of an overreaction, hmm?**

 **Shashenka** **: Only eventually will they be in a romantic relationship, once they get to their teens. And there won't be any lemons either, partly because of their age, and partly because I suck at writing sex scenes.**

 **YuukiAsuna-Chan** **: Harry will get a more darker, pragmatic view on life, true, but he is the light in Alma's darkness, hence the title. He's the one stopping her from becoming the crazed, vengeful force of nature she is in the games.**

 **Guest I Guess** **: As you can see above, she managed to avoid her fate in the Vault in the Origin Facility.**

 **1\. I named him for Paxton Fettel, and reasoned that this may have been one of the people who raised Paxton in the game, hence the name.**

 **2\. Those are the things you fight at the end of** ** _F.E.A.R_** **, in case you're wondering. The ghost-things that Alma summons that swarm you.**


	7. Interval 6: Contacting

**INTERVAL 6:**

 **CONTACTING**

 _Four years later…_

In the ruins of a house in a village with an unusual name (not that there was a dearth of those in Britain), two children slept. They slept in sleeping bags, years of being fugitives and sleeping rough having taught them what was necessary to survive. Both had messy shocks of black hair.

Tonight was to be a key moment for them. They knew one thing was going to happen, something they had planned for a long time. But something else was to happen.

As an owl with a pair of enveloped clutched in its talons began heading towards the village known as Godric's Hollow, the bodies of Harry Potter and Alma Wade slept. But their minds were not exactly dreaming…

* * *

She was on the swing, with him pushing her, as she sang softly.

 _Oranges and Lemons_

 _Say the bells of St Clement's_

 _You owe me three farthings_

 _Say the bells of St Martin's_

 _When will you pay me?_

 _Say the bells of Old Bailey_

 _When I get rich_

 _Say the bells of Shoreditch_

 _When will that be?_

 _Say the bells of Stepney_

 _I do not know_

 _Say the great bell of Bow_

 _Here comes a candle to light you to bed_

 _Here comes a chopper to chop off your head_.

There was something pretty eerie about the way she sang the song, the ethereal sound of her voice echoing around the hill. She sometimes whistled the tune, with it becoming both mournful and sinister(1). But as he stopped pushing her, the smile she turned to him was genuine.

Alma Wade still rarely smiled, her face rarely straying in expression from the impassive mask it seemed perpetually stuck in. Harry Potter treasured those few moments when she did smile. As it was, all they had was each other.

Over the past four years, they had to beg, borrow and steal in order to survive, on the run from Armacham. Last year, they stowed away on a cargo ship that was heading to England. They were as close as siblings, no, even closer, for they had a psychic bond, instituted by Alma, but Harry found that his own abilities as a psychic were growing. In fact, Alma claimed that he had latent abilities in that area, just as she had latent abilities in magic.

It was disturbing, to be able to hear people's thoughts. But he managed to work out a way to shield his thoughts. Alma still struggled, given her own power, which was why he was generally the one sent out to get food and supplies. He looked more normal, anyway.

A few days ago, they came here, to Godric's Hollow. And Harry had felt drawn to the ruins of a house. They found a memorial near it, to the Potters, and they realised that they had come back to the very place where Harry, if not where he was born, then where his fame bloomed. For the first time, Harry beheld his parents, albeit in marble effigy form.

The house, then, was once his home. They decided to stay there, for the time being at least.

In Alma's mindscape, she hopped off the swing, and approached Harry. Her face was once more set in its expressionless mask, but her orange eyes glittered with apprehension. _Harry…it's time_.

Harry nodded, resignedly. For some time, they had known that there was something dark within Harry's scar. A fragment of another person's soul. And they were almost certain they knew whose soul it was. Genevieve Aristide may have been a bitch of the highest order, but her information had panned out.

They had put off doing something about it until Alma was sure she could remove it. And now, she was sure.

As Harry steeled himself, Alma said, _It will hurt_.

Harry looked into Alma's orange eyes, and saw only concern there. Eventually, he nodded. "Okay, do it."

* * *

Had there not been wards of many kinds around the Potter house in Godric's Hollow, everyone living remotely close would have heard the night's stillness pierced by shrill screams of agony. In the bedroom, in a sleeping bag, the body of Harry Potter convulsed and spasmed as he screamed. There was a sudden choking gasp, and then he was still.

Purulent black liquid, like hot tar, began to leak from his scar. The liquid then became a small cloud of smoke, seeming to form a screaming face…before the apparition was drawn to Alma, whose eyes snapped open, glowing in the dark room.

The apparition was drawn to her mouth, and she breathed it in, as if it were smoke from the finest cigar.

Once she had consumed the smoke, she wriggled out of her sleeping bag, and crouched near Harry, still wearing a blood-red dress, albeit a new one to accommodate her growing frame. She placed a finger on his neck. For some time, there was no pulse. So she placed her hands over his chest, but didn't press down. Instead, for the briefest of moments, the room seemed filled with a crushing pressure. Another sudden, choking gasp, and Harry was breathing again. Ragged, agonised breaths, but he was breathing again.

Relief glittered in Alma's glowing eyes, and she gently kissed him on his now sweat-tinged forehead. Then, she returned to her sleeping bag, closed her eyes, and returned to her mindscape…

* * *

Within Alma's mindscape, Harry stared up at the orange sky from where he lay on the ground. That had to be the worst pain he had ever had the misfortune to experience in his life. In fact, if that was what dying felt like, it was highly overrated.

As if sensing his thoughts, Alma, who was sitting next to him, cradling what looked like a flayed infant with grotesque, snake-like features, said, _You did die. For all of thirty seconds. I had to restart your heart with my powers, which removed the final anchors binding this to you_.

Harry, more than a little disturbed by the fact that he did die, even if it was only temporary, sat up and looked at Alma, and more importantly, the thing she cradled in her hands. "What is that?"

 _Voldemort_ , Alma said, her voice tinged with disgust. _I can see from his memories…this is Voldemort. Part of him_.

What she did next would give Harry nightmares. She devoured Voldemort's soul, destroying it utterly. Had he seen much in the way of Muggle art, he would have been reminded of Goya's gruesome and grotesque painting, _Saturn Devouring His Son_ (2). But now, it still served as a reminder that Alma was far more ruthless than he was…and disturbing.

Even so, he allowed her to give him a comforting hug(3). It was rare that she did so to him: usually, it was the other way around.

* * *

The next morning, they woke, only to be greeted by a strange sight. An owl was present, peering at them curiously. And on their chests were envelopes, addressed to both of them by name. And, scarily, with their current address.

Alma peered at hers.

 _ALMA WADE,_

 _THE LIVING ROOM,_

 _THE POTTER HOUSE,_

 _GODRIC'S HOLLOW_

She opened the envelope, and frowned as she read the contents on the parchment. As Harry read his own, she began searching for a pen or a pencil, and eventually found the latter. Some old paper was with it, and she began scribbling a message down in her untidy scrawl.

Placing it back in the envelope, she handed it to the owl. She then prompted Harry to write his own letter of reply. Once he had done so, with her guidance, she placed it in his envelope, and handed it to the owl, who promptly flew off.

* * *

There were few things that could surprise Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, Head of Gryffindor House, and Transfiguration Mistress. Between living through a world war that had become entangled with the ambitions of Grindlewald, the pranks of the Marauders, the rise of Voldemort, and the pranks of the Weasley twins, much of her capacity for surprise had gone.

Of course, she was surprised when, while keeping an eye on the new students for the year, that Harry Potter was amongst them. Albus had feared him lost in the United States, as his instruments had shown him to be still alive, but the last known location was in the US, and he didn't even know anything was awry until the blood wards collapsed. The Dursleys had died in an accident, and Harry disappeared into the ether.

She also noted that there was another name amongst the new students, and she only noticed this when she found two letters addressed to the same place: the Potter House at Godric's Hollow. One Alma Wade was living with Harry, and presumably in the ruins of that house, and she thought, once she got a reply from one or the other, she would head over there to check on them.

She was prepared for a reply, but not what she got. The one from Harry was guarded, but asked for more information. It was Alma Wade's, however, that got her attention.

 _Professor McGonagall,_

 _I am Alma Wade. I am Harry Potter's friend, and guardian, for want of a better term. While your letters were unexpected, we have been aware of magic for some time, no thanks to Harry's original guardians. Due to various events, we have been forced to adopt itinerant lifestyles._

 _Before we accept your offer to attend Hogwarts, we need to speak with a representative of your school. We also need assurances that you have no connection to Armacham or Genevieve Aristide, as well as access to financial resources to obtain our school equipment. Any attempt at betrayal, I will view dimly. This is your only warning._

 _Alma Wade_.

McGonagall had a shocked look on her face at the cold tone of the letter. She hadn't really heard anything about Armacham, though she was sure there was at least one American magical family called Aristide. One that had recently all but gone extinct, with only a Squib.

She decided that this needed a personal touch. Thankfully, it would be a while before she needed to start taking Muggleborns to Diagon Alley and Platform 9¾ for orientation tours. She could spare a few hours to deal with Harry and Alma.

Albus would probably insist on coming, but Minerva thought that this would probably be a bad idea. This needed a diplomatic touch, true, but Alma's letter betrayed a contempt towards the Dursleys, if she read that correctly, and learning that Dumbledore had left them with the Dursleys might not go down well. If she had the letter, then she was only about Harry's age, but her wording betrayed an older mindset.

All that she told Albus was that she was heading to answer queries from a Muggleborn. After getting permission, she walked to the edge of the wards of Hogwarts, and Apparated to Godric's Hollow. It was ten minutes' walk to the ruins of the Potter House.

She knocked, quietly, on the door. Almost as soon as she did, the door opened, by itself. Standing some metres away from her was a girl in a red dress, with lank black hair, grey skin, and glowing orange eyes that seemed to be the only expressive thing in a blank mask of a face. She didn't wear any shoes.

McGonagall, despite the oddness of the situation, recovered herself swiftly. "Alma Wade, I presume?"

The girl inclined her head in a slow nod.

"I am Professor McGonagall. I believe you had some questions…GAHHH!"

The reason for her sudden scream was that she felt something poke into her head, like a claw scrabbling at the lip. Then, some presence began rifling through her mind, digging at memories as if they were papers in a filing cabinet. McGonagall realised it was like Legilimency, albeit of a brutally efficient, if painful, type.

Then, as swiftly as it began, the sensation passed, and she came to her senses to see a boy who looked very much like a young James Potter glaring at Alma Wade. As McGonagall swayed, the boy noticed, and said, "Sorry. Alma wanted to make sure you had no connection to Armacham. We've been on the run from them for…four years now?" he asked Alma, who nodded slowly again. He helped the teacher to a decrepit, but usable chair.

McGonagall shook her head to clear it. "Was that Legilimency?" she asked, dazed.

"Psychic powers. Alma is a psychic. I guess I am now. We have a bond, and some of her power has leaked into me. Look, I'm sorry for what Alma did, but she doesn't like strangers, and…"

McGonagall waved him off. "All that I ask is that she refrain from doing anything of the sort again, to staff or students of Hogwarts."

 _No promises_ , whispered the voice of a girl, presumably that of Alma Wade. McGonagall noted that it seemed to slide into her mind.

McGonagall looked at them both, before asking archly, "Have you any questions? Or have they all been answered by Miss Wade's mental invasion?"

Alma and the boy who must be Harry looked at each other for some time, McGonagall getting the impression of some sort of conversation, unspoken but there, before Harry, who seemed to be the spokesperson of the two, nodded. "Alma was mostly looking for stuff relating to Armacham and what you had to do with me being left with the Dursleys. She thinks you should have protested more."

"I see. So that means you do still have questions?"

Harry and Alma nodded in eerie unison. "How are we supposed to pay for our supplies?"

"Ah, that's easy," McGonagall said. "I doubt that Petunia knew, but your father was part of a rich family. And given the scowls on your faces, she probably called him some unflattering words." She sighed. "I knew it. Anyway, James Potter, your father…you are Harry, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "The last time I checked, I was."

"Hmm. James Potter left you a trust vault to pay for your school supplies and any needs for accommodation until you came of age, which will be when you turn 17 in our world. We would have to go to London. There's a hidden enclave that will sell all of your supplies, as well as the main British branch of our bank, Gringotts. Is another of your questions about accommodation?" Upon seeing their nods, she said, "This time, I will be somewhat more critical. But you'd have to realise that Harry is famous in our world."

"We know," Harry said. "Genevieve Aristide told me years ago."

The declaration was spoken in a somewhat bitter tone, unusual and disconcerting coming from a young boy, suggesting not only history with this Genevieve Aristide, but also that he wanted little to do with such fame. "Then you may be aware that there are some families, many less suitable than others, who would clamour to have you. You have distant relations through your great-grandmother, Dorea Black, but while one family I would think more than suitable, another, far richer one would almost certainly dispute such a placement(4)."

 _They can try_ , Alma said.

"Alma…no melting people unless they are trying to kill us, _please?_ " Harry asked.

McGonagall very nearly asked about that, before deciding that she didn't want to know, not without a glass of firewhiskey on hand. She then heard some noises from below, followed by a glass gently floating into the room, itself followed by a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey, a bit dusty, but unopened. McGonagall watched as the bottle opened itself, and poured an amount into the floating glass. A generous amount, with said glass being gently pressed into her hand. "A double?"

 _You'd need it_ , Alma said.

McGonagall looked at the glass, and then back at the girl. If she had been drunk already, she would have written it off as a delusion. But she had seen the girl either perform magic she normally wouldn't know at her age, or else, given what Harry said about her being a psychic, had just done so with her mind alone. Of course, psychic powers and magic were interlinked to a degree.

Even so, McGonagall reflected that she probably _would_ need that drink…

 **INTERVAL 6 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **So, the first steps to Hogwarts. And if you're wondering why McGonagall would drink on the job and in front of kids, well…this** ** _is_** **Alma we're talking about, and Alma had already invaded McGonagall's head at one point. I think she'll be taking just the one drink, though. Plus, this was for darkly comic effect. And to showcase Alma's growing kindness, albeit of a sort. If you're wondering why she's got a letter when she's a year older than Harry, it's because of her link to Harry and her growing ability with magic.**

 **I'm skipping the Diagon Alley stuff in favour of going straight to the Hogwarts Express. We can gloss over** ** _some_** **stations of canon. You'll also notice a few things copied and pasted from the original version.**

 **1\. I'm taking this annotation from my original version of** ** _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_** **:** ** _Oranges and Lemons_** **is a nursery rhyme from the UK. I guess it's probably best known outside the UK for being a running theme in George Orwell's novel** ** _Nineteen Eighty-Four_** **. I was inspired to have Alma sing it by a** ** _Doctor Who_** **audio drama,** ** _Night Thoughts_** **by Edward Young, where a serial killer (who is very similar in many regards to Alma) whistles the song quite eerily. That, by the way, is a bloody brilliant and bloody scary story. Think** ** _Doctor Who_** **meets a particularly cerebral slasher flick, and you might know what it entails. You can buy it from the Big Finish website. I fully and wholeheartedly recommend it.**

 **2\. A real, and pretty grotesque painting.**

 **3\. It just occurred to me, as I was writing this scene, that the dynamic between Harry and Alma is not unlike that between Oskar and Eli in** ** _Let the Right One In_** **. I remembered this scene in the original film adaptation where Eli gives Oskar a comforting hug, and I'm pretty sure it's just after she kills someone. At this point, though, Harry and Alma have a best friends/close siblings relationship. That will change as time goes on…**

 **4\. There was a similar argument in Arsinoe de Blassenville's** ** _The Best Revenge_** **. When the Tonks are suggested as alternative guardians to Harry, Dumbledore points out a valid counterargument: that the Malfoys, with a similar link of blood, would have the resources to mount a potentially successful counterclaim, and that it might be possible that Harry suffers an 'accident' while in their custody. Ironically enough, in that story, the Malfoys eventually become amongst Harry's greatest allies. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: it's a good story, and well worth reading.**


	8. Interval 7: Commuting

**INTERVAL 7:**

 **COMMUTING**

Alma Wade contemplated the wand in her hand. Ebony and dragon heartstring(1). Ominous, though not as ominous as the wand Harry had in his pocket. Holly, phoenix feather, and apparently brother to the very wand Voldemort used to try to kill Harry. Alma didn't believe in destiny, though what she saw in Ollivander's mind reassured her that this seemed to be little more than perverse coincidence: the old man had considered the possibility that Harry would take that wand, but there was no conspiracy to it, save for the universe's perversity tending towards a maximum.

McGonagall had taken them both to Diagon Alley, and then obtained rooms at the Leaky Cauldron. Alma didn't like staying there: too many people, too many noisy minds, but Harry's presence soothed her mind, and they managed to get through the month and a bit they stayed there without any major incident occurring. True, too many people had stared at her features, and she heard them thinking she was dark. But at least they did no more than think. And her upset caused little more than a few nightmares in Diagon Alley.

McGonagall had told them that, despite Alma being nearly a year Harry's senior, and thus supposed to be in her second year of schooling at Hogwarts, her name didn't appear in the book until recently, and so she would be attending classes at his level. She was, however, astonished to learn that Alma and Harry had managed to master Apparition at a young age during their flight from Armacham. McGonagall reassured them that Harry's fame would protect him here: Genevieve Aristide may be a top Muggle corporate executive, but if she tried something in Magical Britain, then she would have a number of Harry's fans and admirers after her blood.

Now, a month and a bit after they had been found by McGonagall, they were on the Hogwarts Express. There was still the clamour of minds in her own, but she was learning to shut them out. McGonagall, upon learning what Alma was, actually took pity on her, and had asked one of her colleagues for a rare book on Occlumency. Alma knew Genevieve had used Occlumency, but given that it helped keep the maddening voices of people's minds at bay, she didn't care. Indeed, she actually found herself grateful to McGonagall. It meant that she could find a quantum of solace, something she found very hard.

Not long after the train pulled away from the hidden platform at King's Cross Station, the door opened and a red-headed boy, one of a family they had encountered while getting on the train, poked his head in. "Can I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

Alma's eyes narrowed. She could hear his thoughts. Technically, he was incorrect: there were other carriages, albeit a few with people he didn't want to deal with, and he was here to see Harry. Thankfully, it seemed to be out of curiosity, and a childish but relatively benign and tentative desire to be the friend of the Boy Who Lived. She sensed no hostility or ulterior motives (though he was intimidated by her appearance), so she told Harry he could. So Harry gave his assent.

The red-headed boy (Ron Weasley, she heard from his thoughts) had sat down when a pair of redheaded twins, clearly his older brothers, poked their heads in. There was something in their minds that called to her, that sense of mischief. Mischief…a novel thing for her, at least how these two did so. They had recognised Harry at the station, and had helped both of them with their trunks.

They introduced themselves as Fred and George Weasley, and then saw fit to ask for Alma's name. It was Harry who told them. "Her name is Alma. Alma Wade. She doesn't talk much. But she was my first, and best, friend."

Alma inclined her head slightly. A noticeable, but thankfully brief bloom of jealousy within the mind of Ron, followed by curiosity, a feeling shared by the twins. She looked at them, and then spoke into their minds, and only their own. _Do not reply. We shall talk later_.

Their eyes widened, but they nodded, before taking their leave.

Alma watched the ensuing conversation between Ron and Harry with mild irritation. The redhead had asked to see the scar. Harry and Ron then discussed their lives. As Harry wasn't as forthcoming about their time on the run, Ron spoke more about his own family. Eventually, he then looked at Alma. "So, you're Harry's friend?"

Alma inclined her head in a slight nod.

"So…where do you come from? Were your parents wizards or witches?"

"Alma's from America," Harry said. "My relatives died while we were over there, and I was left with Alma's father. Unfortunately, Dr Wade's boss was an evil woman. Which was weird, as she was the one who told me that I was a wizard. Anyway, she killed Alma's father, and we had to flee. Dr Wade told me her mother died giving birth to Alma, so she might have been a witch."

"Does she ever speak?" Ron asked, confused.

 _Only if I want to_ , Alma spoke into his head.

He reared back, startled, his eyes wide. "Whoa! Bloody hell, Alma! You scared me!"

A faint smirk tinged her lips, as if to say, _That was the idea_.

"Alma, please don't make anyone soil themselves," Harry said quietly. "Unless they really deserve it."

A mental sigh echoed along their personal connection. She didn't say, _You're no fun_. She didn't need to.

"Alma is…strange, to say the least. She has powers that hurt her as much as they hurt others. Psychic powers, which is like Legilimency she can't shut off," Harry explained, having the concept of Legilimency explained to him by McGonagall. Ron seemed to have heard of it, given the way he nodded. "Imagine hearing the thoughts of hundreds of people all around you, and not being able to stop hearing."

"Bloody hell, I'd go spare," Ron said, looking at Alma with genuine horror and sympathy. She was actually touched by that. He understood little, but he could at least put himself in her shoes a little.

"Exactly. Alma hasn't had a good time in her life. Muggle scientists are usually good, but most of those she had to deal with were nasty. They wanted to study her psychic powers, even replicate them. And she kept hearing nasty thoughts."

"Bloody hell," Ron repeated, quietly. Eventually, the redhead changed topics, discussing their pets. Harry had obtained an owl, which he had named Hedwig, while Alma had obtained a more unconventional pet: a raven. Then again, it had been the only animal that hadn't freaked out around her. Even Hedwig needed time to get used to her.

She named her raven after a goddess of war who turned out to be a witch mistaken for a deity. Morrigan.

Ron showed his rat, Scabbers, a fat useless lump that Alma immediately seemed suspicious of. Magical rats lived long, and, like many magical pets, were more intelligent than mundane members of their species. But she was sure the damned thing shouldn't be dreaming like he was a human being(2). A name wafted from the dream: Peter Pettigrew.

She struggled to keep herself from reacting. Harry had shared his memory of what Genevieve Aristide had said about the demise of his parents, and McGonagall had confirmed it. Alma had been considering paying Sirius Black a visit one day in his cell in Azkaban to make him suffer for Harry's own suffering…but if this was Pettigrew…

Over the next hour, while Ron and Harry discussed things, she gently searched through the rat's mind. Her gentleness was not out of any desire to avoid harm, but rather, to avoid alerting the rat to anything wrong. And soon, she knew everything.

She controlled herself with an effort. Melting Peter Pettigrew into a gooey skeleton could wait until _after_ Sirius Black had been exonerated. She would tell Harry later.

A lunch trolley came by, and Harry bought a number of sweets. Alma wasn't fond of sweets, preferring salty, savoury, and bitter tastes, so when Harry offered to swap him some of the stuff he bought off the trolley for Ron's corned beef sandwiches, she asked Harry if she could have them.

"You prefer corned beef to chocolate?" Ron asked, astonished.

 _Unless it is_ _ **very**_ _dark chocolate_ , Alma replied as she began to eat.

"Why?"

 _Too many lollipops offered by scientists wanting to stick needles in me_ , Alma said. Harry knew it was a joke like her taste in chocolate: dark and bitter. But it had more than a grain of truth. Some scientists treated her like a child, offering candy and sweets as bribes. Others treated her as a monster, like a thing to be restrained and locked away. None of them really attempted to treat her, simply, as Alma Wade, who was something other than these labels.

Then again, few ever made the attempt to truly understand her.

Harry seemed happy that he began to develop a card collection from the Chocolate Frogs. In fact, he gave the spare Merlin card he got from Ron to Alma. She peered curiously at the moving picture of the famous wizard, who seemed to be staring at her with equal parts apprehension and curiosity.

There was a knock on the door, and a round-faced boy who clearly had been crying poked his head in. "Has anyone seen a toad?"

All three shook their heads. Harry then looked at Alma. "Alma?"

She nodded, and began reaching out with her mind. Since fleeing from Armacham, her psychic powers had increased, but so had the dangers using them, hence the need for Occlumency. She could, effectively, 'see' everything within a certain radius, although she needed to concentrate. It took a while to find the unattended toad. It took less time to reach out with her mind and gently take a hold of it. She brought it through the carriages, until it reached the owner, who had introduced himself as Neville. Harry, who knew what she was doing, had kept the boy here as Alma did her work. Neville was astonished to find his toad, Trevor, hovering near him, ensnared in some rather unhealthy-looking orange energy.

"There you go, Neville!" Harry said. "Alma's found him for you!

"Thank you, Alma," Neville said, still looking nervous.

Alma inclined her head in acknowledgement. Just as Neville made to leave, though, a bushy-haired girl with prominent teeth and a VERY noisy mind appeared. "Oh, Neville, you've found him!" She looked at those present. "Did one of you use magic to find Trevor?"

"Alma did…though she used psychic powers," Harry said.

"Psychic powers? I would've thought they were magic anyway." She peered at Alma's eyes curiously, a little disturbed, but more curious than fearful. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. Who are you?"

"That's Ron Weasley, and this is Alma Wade. And I am Harry Potter."

Her eyes widened. "You're Harry Potter?! I know all about you, of course. I…"

Alma was suddenly in front of Hermione, placing a finger on the bushy-haired girl's lips, halting the diatribe before it began. "Ssshhh," Alma hissed quietly. As the girl looked indignant at being interrupted, Alma said, in her quiet rasp of a voice, "They're wrong."

"What're wrong?" Hermione demanded.

"The books." Alma then sat back down.

"Oh, really!" Hermione huffed, annoyed. "But I read all about him."

"Hermione, did the books say I spent the last four years living rough?" Harry asked. "Or that I spent a year in America being researched by a Muggle corporation?"

Hermione blinked, before saying, "Well, no." She sighed, deflating somewhat. "We've gotten off on the wrong foot, I think. We'll talk later. You might want to get changed, though, as we will be getting there soon. Thank you for helping Neville with his toad, Alma."

 _Hermione_ , Alma said, just as she left. When the girl turned around, Alma said, _Choose Ravenclaw. You'll be happier_.

Hermione blinked, before shrugging, and making her way out, Neville in tow with his toad. Alma sighed. Her thoughts had been loud, but she was intelligent, if somewhat too reliant on book facts. She was leaning more towards Gryffindor, given that Dumbledore had supposedly been there, but Alma thought that a poor reason.

Not long afterwards, while Ron was discussing his older brothers, Quidditch and the Houses, the door opened once more. Alma caught the sour scent of rather unpleasant thoughts, and glanced at the newcomers, a pale boy with blonde hair and pointed features, and two boys who looked like what would happen if Armacham decided to go into genetically engineering minions in a big way. The pale boy (Draco Malfoy, he called himself) stank of unbridled ambition and haughtiness. He seemed to be Genevieve Aristide's crotchspawn. Not literally, obviously, or she would have melted him down where he stood, but he had similar attitudes.

"They're saying all along the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment. Is it you?" he asked Harry.

Harry nodded cautiously. "And these are my friends, Alma Wade and Ronald Weasley."

Draco didn't do more than glance at Ron, but his gaze at Alma was curious, before he became unnerved by her unblinking orange eyes. _Freak_ , she heard him think. Out loud, he said, indicating his minions, "This is Crabbe, and this is Goyle. And my name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

Alma struggled not to roll her eyes. Not only did he have an inflated opinion of his own importance, but he aped Sean Connery as Bond…albeit unconsciously: his mind showed no indication he had ever watched the films. And his subsequent rudeness to Ron annoyed her. To be fair, Ron annoyed her a little, but his mind only stank of desperation and a desire to be noted for something, not of snobbery and snideness. And worse: the same contempt towards anyone who wasn't pure of blood and beholden to blood purity ideals.

His offer to Harry could be construed as an offer to help with networking, but Alma saw it for what it was: an attempt to influence Harry. Alma carefully told Harry to reject it politely, so that she would see what happened, and she wasn't disappointed: the blonde brat didn't take rejection well at all.

As the situation escalated, Alma stood, having had enough, and turned to Malfoy. _Leave_ , she hissed into his mind.

"And what can a freaky little girl do against me?" Malfoy sneered.

Harry facepalmed. "Alma? Don't actually hurt him, we don't want to get in trouble."

Once more, Alma sighed quietly through their link, as if to say, _You're no fun_. Suddenly, Malfoy and his goons turned, their eyes wide, and marched like soldiers on parade back the way they came. Occasionally, she'd have them snap off Nazi salutes and shout out things like "SIEG HEIL!"

Hermione came back not long afterwards, looking confused. "Why were those students acting like Nazis?"

"They annoyed Alma. Plus, they have Nazi-like views," Harry said, having been told by Alma what Draco's attitudes were like.

Hermione blinked, before looking at Alma. She then shook her head. "Note to self: avoid annoying Alma," she murmured quietly. "Anyway, we're nearly at Hogsmeade Station, according to the driver. You'd better get dressed in your robes."

Alma enjoyed the stunned goldfish look on Hermione's face when Alma used her powers to make her own robes appear instantly over her, from within her trunk. She then left the carriage for the moment, leaving Ron and Harry to get changed. Her own trunk appeared on the floor near her in a swirl of orange energy.

Hermione stared, before looking at Alma, and murmuring, " _Definitely_ avoid annoying Alma."

Alma smiled softly. She didn't speak into Hermione's head, but her smile said it all. _Got it in one_ …

 **INTERVAL 7 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **A more light-hearted chapter, compared to most. Alma does have a sense of humour, and she will join the Weasley twins on an unholy rampage of terror…but this is still a horror work. And the horror is far from over. I hope you enjoyed what Alma did to Malfoy and his minions.**

 **Review-answering time!** **lagoon childe** **: As you saw above, she's strongly considering channelling some of her qualities into pranking, and collaborating with the Weasley twins. And she's just given Draco a taste of what she can do.**

 **Loyaltothelegion** **: You'll like her humour in this chapter, then. And actually, I've decided on their House. You'll see in the next chapter, but I know it will surprise a lot of people.**

 **kewllewk** **: The reason Alma didn't kill Genevieve was that she was more concerned with saving her father. She intended to intimidate Genevieve into surrender by melting her security forces, and then kill Genevieve slowly and painfully after she got her father. Unfortunately, Genevieve proved to be slightly more resilient to the sight of melting people, and tried to kill her. After that point, she decided that fleeing with Harry was more important than taking revenge, though if she ever got the opportunity to, she would kill Genevieve.**

 **1\. According to the Harry Potter Wiki, ebony is suited to combative magic, Transfiguration, often used by wizards who are highly individual or outsiders, who can't be swayed in their beliefs. Good for Alma, eh?**

 **2\. I know the Dementors viewed Sirius as an animal when he was in Animagus form, so Alma should be seeing something of Scabbers/Pettigrew as a rat. But I think, while he's sleeping, his thoughts might betray him, to Alma if not a Dementor.**


	9. Interval 8: Sorting

**INTERVAL 8:**

 **SORTING**

It was like something out of a fairy tale, Alma had to admit. The dark silhouette of the castle against the night sky, as they glided along the lake's surface in boats without rowers or motors. It should have been sinister. Instead, it felt magical, welcoming.

Over the best part of the next year, it would definitely be home. Certainly more so than anything had been over the past four years. And there was something about an ancient castle that appealed to Alma, to the darkness within her. An old castle would have accumulated many secrets, and seen many crimes and atrocities committed within its walls. While her expression didn't change from its normally impassive mask, inwardly, she grinned.

However, even as she thought about it, she swiftly began schooling her thoughts. Going to this school would mean having to be in proximity to a lot of people. Occlumency helped, true, but it required a lot of effort. Especially if it meant avoiding unleashing her inner darkness on the school. Armacham had been hit by attacks of that inner darkness, manifesting as homicidal spectres she privately called Nightmares. Occasionally, they would leak out during their time on the run. Thankfully, the only nightmares Alma had in Diagon Alley were of the mundane variety, but they were bad enough, as she knew other people had them.

She looked at the imposing figure of Rubeus Hagrid. His mind, despite his massive size, was refreshingly child-like and pure. It was actually pleasant to listen to his thoughts, as he was preoccupied with wanting a dragon. She did have to wonder what this 'Philosopher's Stone' he was thinking about was, not to mention this 'Nicholas Flamel'. As Dumbledore featured prominently in the giant's thoughts regarding the Stone (and that was probably Hagrid's biggest failing: he worshipped the ground Dumbledore strode upon), she would probably bring this up later with the Headmaster: it was hard to keep secrets with a psychic around.

Or maybe not. She remembered Dumbledore's card Harry had let her look at during his binge on the chocolate frogs, and she closed her eyes and thought about it (much to the relief of Ron and Neville, who were still nervous about her glowing orange eyes). Yes, there is was. Dumbledore was noted for work in alchemy with Nicholas Flamel. Which meant that Flamel was an alchemist.

She didn't know much about alchemy in terms of the details, but she remembered reading amongst the many books they had studied in Diagon Alley that there were two goals that practitioners had historically: transmuting base metals into gold, and immortality. The former didn't interest her. But the latter? She would live forever, with Harry by her side. So if this Philosopher's Stone was anything to do with living forever, then she intended to get a hold of it.

Thoughts of a very long and very happy life together occupied Alma's mind, and she very nearly didn't register that they had arrived.

* * *

Professor Albus Dumbledore, he of the legion of titles and names, watched as the first years were led through by Minerva. There were many there of interest to him, but two in particular stood out. The first, of course, was Harry Potter. The second was the girl who had apparently accompanied him while they were living rough for several years: Alma Wade.

Dumbledore had already heard of McGonagall's experience with the girl. It was frightening, to say the least, that the girl had such skill with Legilimency. Or rather, with psychic ability.

Psychics were distinctive from magic users in many regards. As far as Dumbledore knew (and he couldn't profess to be remotely knowledgeable on the subject), it used something different from magic power, but to achieve not dissimilar results. The girl, by all accounts, was unsociable, but after her initial mental attack on Minerva, was willing to come to Hogwarts.

Still, the information they provided Minerva finally allowed Dumbledore to fill in the gaps of what had happened. The Dursleys had taken Harry to America as part of Vernon's business trip to Armacham. They had had an accident, and Harry was left in the care of Dr Wade. Then, they had been forced to flee upon learning what Genevieve Aristide had in store for them. To think that such a ruthless woman intended to imprison the Boy Who Lived in such a way…

Of course, Harry had told McGonagall about his living conditions at the Dursleys. Dumbledore had hoped that the best they would treat Harry would be coldly, not in such a manner. It seemed that he had miscalculated, and badly. He just hoped Harry, in the company of this girl, hadn't grown dark, or else apathetic.

It was easy to spot the girl. Her grey skin stood out, as did her long black hair and glowing orange eyes. Her expression was mostly impassive, but Dumbledore knew she was being watchful, though there was a slight curiosity to it as well. There was something truly dark about that girl, Dumbledore knew, but her interactions with McGonagall meant that she was anti-social, rather than evil. And hopefully, Harry would keep her in the light, rather than her dragging him into the darkness. The last thing they needed was someone anywhere like Voldemort. He still intended to talk to her, and find out the details of what happened.

And there was Harry. A little haggard, and certainly a little more wary and aged in his green eyes than he should have been, but there was still a sense of wonder in his expression as he looked around the Great Hall. Hopefully, it wouldn't be too late. And hopefully, he could find a way to remove that abominable Horcrux that wouldn't kill Harry in the process.

He watched as the Sorting began. First, the Hat was brought out, and sang its little ditty. People thought Dumbledore had bad taste in music, but in fact, it was more than he enjoyed almost every type of music, from beautiful arias, to what the Muggles called heavy metal. The only thing he truly hated was muzak, and only because it was music from which the soul and character had been wrung from it. Whereas this music most definitely had soul and character.

After the Sorting Hat finished its song, the Sorting began. Internally, he made little suppositions on which person would go where. Most of the time he was right, though sometimes, he was wrong. He felt that it would be interesting to think about where Harry would be Sorted, along with Alma Wade. While it was his fervent belief that Harry going into Slytherin would raise the tone of that House significantly, it was also sadly true that his going into it would possibly lead to his alienation from many in Magical Britain, who may see it as a betrayal. In any case, given the circumstances, Harry possibly lacked ambition, though it required cunning aplenty to live an itinerant lifestyle for so long.

Gryffindor perhaps? Bravery was certainly needed as well to live life as he had done. And from what Minerva had reported, he also had an interest in learning that may have him go into the Ravenclaws. But as Dumbledore thought more and more about it, he began to suspect that Harry's destiny lay within Hufflepuff.

People underestimated Hufflepuff, with even Hagrid calling it a House of 'duffers'. But Hufflepuff was the House of the loyal and tenacious and hard-working. Without the Hufflepuffs, Magical Britain would most definitely grind to a halt. Gryffindors may surge forward, Slytherins may reach for the top, and Ravenclaws may plan, but Hufflepuffs made sure everything kept moving.

And Harry, by all accounts, was intensely loyal to Alma Wade, and vice versa. And it required the tenacity of a Hufflepuff to make their way through the world on the run as they did. And the sad truth of the matter was that children who were damaged tended to gravitate slightly more to Hufflepuff.

While it would be a minor shame that Harry didn't go into Gryffindor, the House of his parents, it mattered little. Dumbledore bet, to himself, that Potter would end up in Hufflepuff House.

His reverie was interrupted when he saw the Granger girl go into Ravenclaw after a long Sorting. A precocious young Muggleborn with a strong intellect, McGonagall had told him. But there must've been other qualities if the Sorting had gone on for so long.

The Sorting continued. The Longbottom heir, the one the prophecy could have been talking about, sat there for a long time before finally heading to Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy had the Hat on his head for the briefest instant before it declared Slytherin. No surprise there.

Finally, Harry's turn came. And he watched as the boy had the Hat put onto his head.

* * *

"Hmm. Very difficult. But what's this? Oh, you poor kid. Nobody should have to deal with this."

 _Umm…do you mind not looking through my head? I don't really like it, except when Alma does_.

"Sorry, kid. It's part of the job. Frankly, there is much that would stand you in good stead at any House. But I think I know where you need to go, and the same goes for Miss Wade. I don't think I want to get hurt by her. Anyway, like I said, I know where you need to go…"

* * *

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Dumbledore smiled, and clapped loudly with the others as tumultuous applause erupted everywhere. Even the Gryffindors, despite their disappointment at not getting Harry, clapped loudly. He noticed that Severus looked surprised, and hoped that the man would revise his opinion of Harry.

* * *

As Alma waited her turn, she heard Harry say, through their mental link, _The Hat's probably going to put you into Hufflepuff with me. He's a bit scared of you from what he saw in my memories. Please, don't try to hurt him when you get Sorted_.

 _I'll try_ , Alma sent back.

Eventually, her name was called, and she skipped over to the stool, and allowed the Hat to be placed on her head. She carefully allowed some of her mental barriers down.

The Hat's voice came soon. "…Oh, this is…I'm sorry about what happened. And it says a lot about whose minds I have seen into that you are far from the worst case to wear me."

… _I see. I expected something…more invasive_.

"I try not to be. And I try to keep things secret. There is a lot of darkness in you, Alma Wade, but there is a light in that darkness, and not just Harry. He's what is keeping it kindled. And you are loyal to him to the very end. Even if you died, you would come back to life for him. These are qualities Helga herself would have been proud of, despite the darkness within. Well, who am I to say no to you staying together? Welcome to…HUFFLEPUFF!"

Alma took the Hat off, gave it a slight smile of thanks, before skipping to the Hufflepuff table, and squeezing in next to Harry, taking care to bring her barriers back up in the process. She didn't pay much attention to many of the greetings, though a redheaded girl called Susan Bones stuck in her mind, if only because she was thinking of her aunt, Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE. When she got around to dealing with Pettigrew, she might need to contact Bones.

Soon after the Sorting finished (with the Weasley boy ending up in Gryffindor as he wanted, and the last boy, a Blaise Zabini, going into Slytherin), Dumbledore stood. She scrutinised him. He was dressed in ridiculously pantomime clothing, purple with stars and moons on it. He was like some stereotype of Merlin brought to life, complete with pointy hat and ridiculously long white beard.

Of course, this was the same man who had left Harry with those animals. And this was the man hiding something called a 'Philosopher's Stone' here. She couldn't hear his thoughts, which meant that he practised some kind of Occlumency (even in the crowded Great Hall, she should have been able to home in on a single person's thoughts otherwise). He then said something about saying a few words before dinner, before exclaiming "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" He then sat down.

Alma heard someone comment that he was mad, but a genius. But while it was somewhat eccentric, she mused as she went to eat the food that had appeared on the table, it was presumably something of an act. It was either calculated to put people off-guard…or it was a mask to hide some inner turmoil, and while she couldn't read his mind, his face was just readable enough to suggest it could be both.

Of course, that assessment was being further revised after dinner. He made some announcements that made sense, at least until that whole 'forbidden corridor' thing. Alma knew that that would probably attract students rather than deter them. Oh, it would deter the majority, but some thrill-seekers would try their luck. And she was willing to bet that it was linked to what Hagrid was thinking about.

As her eyes roved the table, she found herself looking at two people looking at her with interest, and whose thoughts were completely opaque. One was a man with lank, black hair, dark eyes, and a prominent nose. He seemed to glare when he noticed her looking, but she stared impassively back, and nobody won against Alma Wade in a staring contest. Even he had to look away after a while. The thoughts of a neighbouring teacher marked him as Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin and Potions Master.

The other was a younger man wearing a turban. Alma recognised him as Quirrell, a teacher they had met while with McGonagall. He taught Defence Against the Dark Arts. He wasn't wearing the turban at the time, but it was only now that Alma realised she couldn't hear his thoughts. Well, if he knew Occlumency, then he might be competent, despite his tendency to stammer and look frightened.

After the announcements, Dumbledore led a singing of the school song which was, frankly, cacophonic, not least because he asked people to sing it to any tune they wished. She clapped her ears to her head and tried very hard not to freak out. That might unleash the Nightmares, and that would be a bad thing, especially this early in the school year.

Once Harry tugged her hands away, the song had finished, save for those twin brothers of Ron, who, much to her amusement, were singing it to a funeral march. It appealed to her morbid sense of humour. They were soon dismissed.

* * *

Alma decided that she liked their new Head of House. McGonagall, despite her well-meaning and decent nature, had strict thoughts that twanged and jangled unpleasantly. Pomona Sprout, however, had thoughts that were as warm and loving as her behaviour showed. There was very little pretence to the dumpy witch, something she was glad of. As much as Alma disdained affection, the truth was that she secretly desired it, and from more people than Harry.

Still, soon, she would have to begin work here at Hogwarts. She had a traitor to expose, a Philosopher's Stone to investigate, and Harry's safety to keep. But for a single night, she could relax.

 **INTERVAL 8 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **Yet another Sorting chapter, this one mostly from Dumbledore and Alma's POVs. And Alma's plotting to take the Philosopher's Stone for herself, and for Harry. And did you notice what the Hat said about Alma coming back from the dead? Well, it happened in the game, and it may yet happen in this story…**

 **From this point onward, most of the story will be of vignettes of the first year. You've read variations on this so many times, so I'll probably focus on key moments of Harry and Alma's time at Hogwarts.**

 **BTW, does anyone think that the song** ** _Nuclear_** **by Mike Oldfield (which was used on a trailer for** ** _Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain_** **) suits Alma, especially canon Alma, down to a tee?**

 ** _I'm nuclear, I'm wild_**

 ** _I'm breaking up inside_**

 ** _A heart of broken glass, defiled_**

 ** _Deep inside the abandoned child…_**

 **10K views! Whoo!**

 **Review-answering time!** **Loyaltothelegion** **: To be fair, Malfoy IS a complete idiot. He only gains remotely sympathetic properties in the sixth book. So I'm not going to stop what I'm doing. Thanks for your opinion on how I portrayed Ron and Hermione. I try to reconstruct characters more than deconstruct/bash them. Unless they truly deserve it, like Snape or Malfoy. I find it far easier, for example, to write a flawed, but good Dumbledore than I do a villainous one (though I have for two of my fanfics).**

 **KRP** **: Alma is better than she would have been in the Vault, but she's still a disturbed and disturbing child. As stated many times, Harry is what keeps the light within her going. If something ever happens to Harry, she will make the Alma of** ** _F.E.A.R_** **canon look tame by comparison. As for her collaborating with the Weasley twins, well…Hogwarts beware. But even canon Alma, I think, would have a chance in Hufflepuff, if only because she is so tenacious, death can't claim her. That being said, I wouldn't mind seeing an 'Alma reincarnated as a female Harry' story. Give it a whirl if you can, or else get someone else (not me, as I am so busy with these stories) to try it. Make it a challenge on your profile or something.**

 **Belial666** **: An excellent question, but I can't answer it all here. Psychic powers, as mentioned in the above chapter, are related to magic, but are different in many regards. As for her power level, well, considering what she does throughout the** ** _F.E.A.R_** **games, Alma is basically a goddess in human form. And she can't control every little bit of her powers. Think about that a moment. It should scare you. In the games, she is capable of warping dimensions, even outside warping people's minds, creating mental constructs that are solid enough to kill, and basically keeping her own body alive when she should be a cadaver. Again, scary, deity-level shit.**

 **No numbered annotations this time.**


	10. Interval 9: Planning

**INTERVAL 9:**

 **PLANNING**

Genevieve Aristide was not a happy woman, to say the least. In fact, it was a frequent truism uttered by employees of Armacham (albeit when her back was turned) that if Genevieve Aristide ever smiled, it would be a sign of the Apocalypse. And while this was an exaggeration of course, it wasn't that much of one. Ironically, a few had said this of Alma Wade, and she smiled a lot more often now than Genevieve ever did.

It had been four years since Alma Wade and Harry Potter escape from Armacham, four years since she had shot and killed Harlan Wade (and not a single fuck given by anyone important). Four years, and all she had heard was rumour and hearsay about those two insolent little whelps. Nothing concrete, nothing at all.

Until today.

She had a subscription to _The Daily Prophet_ , and sensationalist bullshit though it was (journalistic integrity being considerably laxer in the Magical World than it was in the mundane world), it had just enough grains of truth to be worth the money to pay for a subscription. Especially if she could learn that Harry Potter had been found.

As it was, the latest issues actually did have something. There had been exciting news (how the newspaper put it, anyway) about how Harry Potter had re-entered the Wizarding World…in the company of a strange, grey-skinned girl with orange eyes known as Alma Wade. No further details were known, and Genevieve knew that mobilising a force to try and take them would be a disaster. Diagon Alley was a magical enclave, after all, and while ATC troops would be able to shoot any wizards or witches opposing them down, Genevieve also knew that it would be too loud and too noisy. She needed to make Harry and Alma disappear from the world, and ensure they were kept in the Vault, which had been completed, despite Alma's destruction of the darker projects of Armacham. And she needed to do so quietly, in a manner which she could say she was innocent, being able to lie through the teeth. So, basically, make like a Slytherin, and do it with cunning and foresight, not to mention subtlety.

She had made plans for this for some time, though. She knew that, if she couldn't get a hold of Harry and Alma before Harry was meant to go to Hogwarts, then it meant he may end up at Hogwarts. And that meant that she needed to find an inside person. Indeed, she had begun to cultivate a certain inside person for the job. She had filled their ears with poison, ensuring that said person would be loyal to her, and not that old wether(1) Dumbledore. And it had worked. Money was an excellent lubricant of loyalty, and so too was the promises she gave them of power. Power she would give them once she got things underway again.

After all, there were weak links everywhere in the Magical World, always overlooked. And of them all, there was an underclass who were demeaned and treated with patronising kindness at best, and withering contempt at worse. And unlike the House Elves, they weren't bound in any way, save for how society normally bound their underclasses.

Indeed, Genevieve knew how to exploit that underclass. It was how she was able to wipe out her entire family, and claim the inheritance that was her own. True, it required her to dig another grave besides those her family were put into, but the Aurors didn't suspect a damn thing here. Her contact, though, she would actually reward, as long as they kept quiet until she could get what they wanted, though she made sure that they learned Occlumency as much as they could.

Given that Harry and Alma were now at Hogwarts, she would have to start putting her plans into motion. She had obtained, through various illegal means, a special kind of Portkey, that could transport people out from heavily-warded places. It was an invention of the American Aurors, to try and extract recalcitrant suspects from heavily-warded homes. The inventor had once boasted that it could even take someone from out of Hogwarts, which was widely considered to be one of the most heavily-warded locations in the Wizarding World.

She intended to put that boast to the test. And hopefully, she would not be disappointed. She had spent a lot of time and money getting the Portkey to take whoever was holding onto it to a special room near the Vault that would trigger the release of an anaesthetic gas the moment it detected movement inside it. Once Harry and Alma were subdued, they would be put into the Vault with all due haste, and the psychic shielding put up.

And then, she would have what she needed.

Having waited long enough, she decided to send the Portkey to her contact at Hogwarts. Dumbledore was really an old fool. Those he thought he had on a leash would bite him given the chance to live as a man and not as a dog.

* * *

Dumbledore was not looking forward to this meeting. Early this morning, Alma Wade had asked Pomona Sprout to meet with Dumbledore. And Dumbledore, despite his years of experience and immense magical power, was frightened of the girl. He wondered if she intended to take him to account for leaving Harry with the Dursleys. It seemed that his sins, even if they were of neglect rather than malice, were coming home to roost.

Soon, Alma entered the office, escorted by Pomona. Seeing her closer was highly unnerving. Her grey skin, orange glowing eyes, and impassive face all added to a very sinister aspect. So, the best approach was a diplomatic one. "Miss Wade, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

 _Three things_ , Alma said, speaking into his mind. _First: Peter Pettigrew is alive_.

Dumbledore blinked. Of all the things she could have said, it was a strange thing to say. "Miss Wade…why would you say such a thing? Peter Pettigrew was murdered by Sirius Black shortly after Black betrayed the Potters."

 _Pettigrew was the true Secret Keeper. He betrayed the Potters. He escaped because he was able to change into an animal. Namely, a rat. The pet rat of Ronald Weasley. I sensed his thoughts when we were on the train_.

Dumbledore looked at Pomona, who seemed shocked by this, before returning his gaze to Alma. "I will tell Professor McGonagall about this." The Cat Animagus knew of the charms used to detect an Animagus, and who to revert said Animagus back to human form. If Pettigrew was truly alive, then it certainly threw the guilt of Sirius Black into doubt. On Pettigrew's murder, at least. And if what Alma had said was true, then Sirius Black was innocent of all charges placed against him.

Dumbledore felt ashamed at this, if this was the case. It meant he had allowed prejudice to overcome what good thoughts he had about Sirius, being able to buck the Dark reputation of the Black family. Out loud, he said, "I will investigate this further. If it is Pettigrew, then I will hand him over to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and Madam Amelia Bones."

Alma nodded slightly. _Secondly, I have removed a fragment of Voldemort's soul from Harry. It has been destroyed_.

Dumbledore's eyes widened in sheer shock. Eventually, he said, "Thank you. But…I will need to check to make sure. If you have done so, you have done me, Magical Britain, and Harry Potter himself a great service."

 _You know what it was?_

"I suspected," Dumbledore said. "It is not something to be discussed lightly or openly. And the last thing?"

 _Our accommodation outside of Hogwarts_ , Alma said.

Dumbledore sighed. He had been giving this not inconsiderable thought, and he was yet to find a satisfactory answer. "My apologies, Miss Wade. As the Dursleys are no longer suitable, there are other factors I need to consider before I send you into the care of someone else. Professor McGonagall told me that you are afraid of reprisals from Genevieve Aristide. If what she has told me is true, then I need to give it some considerable thought. I will speak with you at a later date on the matter. That being said, I have some tentative candidates for your guardians. Trusted people."

Alma gazed at him impassively. He was reminded, even now, of the uncomfortable scrutiny of a scientist looking through a microscope at some germ, dispassionately and coldly. Then, after a moment, he heard, _Thank you, Professor_. The thank you seemed far from sincere, used more as a calculated nicety than out of any true gratitude. She didn't trust him, and if what Minerva had said was true, the only person she truly trusted was Harry Potter, although Minerva had some of the girl's trust, if only because Alma had invaded Minerva's mind, and found little wanting.

"You're welcome, Miss Wade. Now, I suggest you go and have some breakfast. Young minds and bodies need energy for the upcoming day of learning," he said, giving as much of the paternal grandfatherly air that he could.

She nodded, before she left. Pomona shot an apologetic look to Dumbledore, who waved it away. Gaining Alma's trust would be hard. He also signalled Pomona discreetly, saying they would talk later. He would need to ensure she didn't speak of what had been in Harry's scar.

After the two left, Dumbledore began looking over the small list of names for potential guardians for Harry and Alma. He needed people he could trust. Each had their own pros and cons.

One of the names was Severus Snape. Given the life-debt Snape owned James Potter, and that he regretted Lily's death, his loyalty in this matter would be assured above all else. But his attitude towards James Potter and his issue left a lot to be desired, and Dumbledore knew that in all likelihood, he would end up on the wrong end of Alma Wade.

Another possibility was Remus Lupin. Although not Harry's godfather, he was a good friend of James Potter, and of a very good temperament. But the fact that he was a werewolf had to be taken into account: even if Remus could control the beast with Wolfsbane Potions, the moment the fact that a werewolf had been given guardianship over the Boy Who Lived, there would be, frankly, a political shitstorm of epic proportions. Senior Ministerial Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge, that odious toad in dubiously female form, would have a field day, and as that werewolf-hater had the ear of Cornelius Fudge, her immediate superior, Harry and Alma would be taken from Remus forthwith.

The next best possibility was his old friend Alastor Moody, better known by his _nom de guerre_ of 'Mad-Eye'. On the plus side, his home was a veritable fortress, magically, and he would be an excellent teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts. His job, being an instructor with the Aurors, was less demanding than some. On the downside, Moody was infamously paranoid, and there was the possibility that he and Alma might not mesh, though Dumbledore suspected it was better than it would be with Snape. Frankly, Moody was the best option he could think of so far.

Of course, there were other options, albeit somewhat less suitable ones. The Weasleys, for example, but he would have to arrange a stipend (and hope that Molly, in her pride, would accept the extra income) and find a way to ensure the living space was adequate. Arabella Figg was a possibility, but given how she had helped keep an eye on Harry while he was at the Dursleys', he wasn't sure whether Harry or Alma would accept the woman.

But Alma's words opened up another possibility. He would need to make sure, and there was no guarantee of it going anywhere. But if she was telling the truth, and Peter Pettigrew was alive and the actual traitor to the Potters, then it meant that, once Sirius Black was released, they could live with him. Black, after all, was Harry's godfather, and had priority. And the ancestral Black home of 12 Grimmauld Place would doubtless have a ridiculous amount of wards and protective spells, and a Fidelius Charm on top of that might help.

Dumbledore considered this information carefully. If Sirius did turn out to be innocent, then perhaps this was for the best. Of course, as the saying went, one shouldn't count one's chickens ere they hatched. Otherwise, you'll be deeply disappointed.

Even as he did so, he had to wonder whether Alma had learned about the Philosopher's Stone yet. If she truly was as powerful a psychic as McGonagall had claimed, then she may have learned about it already. He could only hope that she didn't decide to target the Stone…

 **INTERVAL 9 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **Sorry about the wait, guys. Inspiration was lacking. Anyway, with this chapter, this story will surpass the chapter count and word count of the original version of** ** _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_** **. It's already surpassed the view count, sitting at 18K views, while the original sits at about 12K.**

 **Alma's rather chatty in this chapter, isn't she? I'm trying to avoid that, but here, she does need to say things to Dumbledore.**

 **Although I said I was going to do vignettes of the first year, I do find I will probably do something in the first few days of Harry and Alma being at Hogwarts, namely Genevieve carrying out her plan. Who is her contact at Hogwarts? Well, you'll have to wait and see, but some of you might be able to make a reasonably intelligent guess. I might reveal who it is in the next chapter, when I finally get around to writing it…**

 **Review-answering time!** **Insanity Pie** **: I understand your concerns in this regard, and the romance, such as it is, will be slow-burning. Harry considers Alma to be more like a sister/best friend, but Alma, having a twisted psyche, thinks otherwise. The actual romance is a** ** _long_** **way off.**

 **Space King Wizard Duck** **: Just be patient (I know that's a dirty word on the internet, but even so, you can try it). For example, here's the latest chapter. Try having a look at some of my other works. There's a lot of new ones you might like.**

 **Danget the critic** **: Thanks. Regarding Alma 'dying', well, I figured out two potential points where it happens. I'm more or less set on the earliest point. It will be a very dramatic moment, and where we see Alma become more like the canon Alma. It will cause a rift between Harry and Alma because of what happens, not necessarily because Alma does anything to hurt Harry, but because what she does alienates the others at Hogwarts. That's somewhat in the future, really.**

 **peroli ryu** **: Part of the problem with writing Alma effectively is her power is ridiculous huge, as you say. It was the reason why I abandoned the first version of** ** _Lux in Tenebris Lucet_** **, as someone pointed out that I was demeaning Harry by giving his bigger triumphs to Alma. But one thing uniting both versions is that this is about how Harry is drawing Alma out of the darkness.**

 **1\. I discovered this term, wether, while writing my Harry Potter/** ** _Highschool DxD_** **crossover,** ** _Fall to Zenith_** **. A wether is a name for a castrated goat. Given the Dumbledore-bashing I was doing in that particular work, I found that an interesting term to use for Dumbledore, either in works where I bash him, or else in works where I don't, but I look into the thoughts of people who detest him. BTW,** ** _Fall to Zenith_** **is fast becoming one of my most popular works. If you don't mind some Dumbledore-bashing, and like** ** _Highschool DxD_** **(especially with a bit more sanity to balance out the comedy and raunchiness), give** ** _Fall to Zenith_** **a look.**


	11. Interval 10: Learning

**INTERVAL 10:**

 **LEARNING**

One thing Alma and Harry did before coming to Hogwarts was to carefully read their texts so that they had a basic grounding in the subjects at hand. It came in handy with their first lesson, Potions.

Severus Snape was a man whose exceedingly unpleasant thoughts were apparent in his expression, even if Alma couldn't hear his thoughts. Certainly, the way he singled out Harry during the roll-call as a 'celebrity' rubbed her the wrong way.

That being said, the man certainly knew how to lecture, his resonant, nasal but commanding voice holding them all spellbound. Potions must be a sorely underestimated branch of magic, and his speech was practised well. But the cold insult at the end, she could have done without. She could feel the eagerness of Hermione (the Ravenclaws taking their class with the Hufflepuffs) to prove she wasn't a 'dunderhead', as Snape put it politely (Alma getting the feeling that Snape wanted to use a less-polite term).

She felt Harry's nervousness, and sent a calming sensation through their link. Judging by the way Snape was looking at him, she knew Harry was going to be singled out. And she wasn't disappointed.

"Potter!" Snape all but snapped. "If I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I have?"

A brief moment of panic from Harry, followed by relief as he recalled it from the introduction of the text. "The main part of the Draught of Sleeping Death, Professor," Harry said. "A sleeping potion so potent, only the antidote can wake the drinker."

A brief expression of surprise on Snape's features. Eventually, he said, "Clearly, fame isn't everything. Let's see if that was a lucky fluke. I want to find a bezoar. Where would I find it?"

As Harry thought about the answer, Alma didn't have to turn to look at Hermione, who seemed to be bouncing up and down in her chair, her hand held up high. Her thoughts were so eager and energetic. Sadly, she didn't think eagerness would cut it with Snape.

"The stomach of a goat, Professor. There are many types of bezoars or gastroliths, but the goat bezoar is a potent antidote." The bit about gastroliths wasn't in the text, but Alma remembered the term from her father. Her father was a medical doctor after all, and as she killed him, she also took what memories she could from his dying mind. She had discussed this with Harry earlier.

Snape's expression seemed to be a mixture of emotions. Annoyance, and perhaps the slightest touch of grudging respect. "Hmm, so it seems you can go outside mere rote learning." He looked up sharply at Hermione. "And put your hand down, Granger!" he snapped.

Hermione's thoughts were full of hurt at being dismissed so readily by Snape. And then, the Potions Master looked at Alma. "Wade! What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Out loud, she said, as loud as she dared to make her rasping voice, "There is no difference. They are the same plant, aconite, a key ingredient in many potions."

Their eyes met, impassive gaze meeting impassive gaze, orange glowing eyes meeting black ones. And Alma got the impression that the only reason Snape looked away was because he needed to continue the lesson. "Five points to Hufflepuff," he said grudgingly, before snapping, "And why aren't any of you noting this down?!"

There was a quick scrambling for quills and parchment, and after noting it all down, Snape went over to the blackboard, on which a potions recipe had been written. "This is a simple potion to cure boils. I expect you to follow the instructions strictly, and _to the letter!_ Otherwise, the consequences will be worse than me taking points from your House. Understood?"

A chorus of " _Yes, Professor Snape_ " susurrated around the room, and they were paired off. Harry and Alma worked together, naturally. And while their potion wasn't exactly perfect, Snape merely criticised one thing about it, compared to others. Hermione, working with a boy called Anthony Goldstein, got a grudging nod of approval.

However, one Hufflepuff pair, on the other side of the room, was having trouble. "NO, DON'T PUT THE PORCUPINE QUILLS IN NOW!" Susan Bones shrieked at Zacharias Smith.

Thinking quickly, Alma projected her energy around the cauldron they were using just as Smith dropped the quills in. Orange and black energy surrounded the cauldron as a hissing noise emerged, and the cauldron, just visible within the cloud of Alma's energy, melted away into a misshapen lump of metal, liquid spilling out into the energy field.

Snape stormed over, glaring at Smith. "Imbecile! Did you not hear her?! Did you not hear _me?_ You add the porcupine quills AFTER you take the cauldron off the fire! I said to follow the instructions _to the letter!_ " Smith made the mistake of sneering at Snape, for the man snarled, "Ten points from Hufflepuff, Smith! Be thankful it isn't more." He waved his wand, and the spilled potion, still contained within the energy field, vanished. Alma released the energy field. She idly thought that the melted cauldron now looked like a work of abstract art. "And be thankful that _something_ prevented this mess from splashing onto you and Miss Bones, or you'd be suffering from boils all over your skin. Faulty potions do not care if you are descended from Helga Hufflepuff, or from Merlin himself!"

The Potions class went on for some time longer. After it was finished, Snape told Alma to stay behind. Alma had Harry wait just outside, with Hermione staying with them. Snape looked down at Alma with his dark eyes, before saying, "That was you with that strange… _power_ around the cauldron." It was not a question.

Eventually, Alma nodded.

"Dumbledore warned me about provoking you, Wade, and how protective you are about Potter. He told me that you have considerable powers, powers I saw you demonstrate with ease. Allow me then to give you a warning of my own. It is good that you reacted quickly to prevent Bones and Smith from being harmed by the fruits of Smith's incompetence, but be aware that you already are considered to be dark by the student rumour mill, especially in my own House. Your actions against Malfoy on the train didn't help. And the opinions of Magical Britain are fickle. I would suggest treading very carefully, Wade. Your powers will be considered Dark. Consider this free advice, Wade. Many are jealous of Potter and his fame." His expression suggested that, in part, he was one of them. "And many won't hesitate to try and attack him through you."

After a moment, Alma said, out loud, "They can try. Thank you, Professor."

"You may leave, but remember what I said," Snape said.

* * *

The other questions were a mixed bag. True, Transfiguration and Charms were good subjects, partly because they were interesting, and partly because of the teachers. McGonagall was strict, warning them of the dangers of Transfiguration, but she also was a good teacher. Flitwick was a more entertaining one, the diminutive professor being good natured, though she could have done without the yelp of surprise and fall when he saw Harry's name on the roll. It seemed rehearsed.

Herbology…she didn't like the subject. Not the practical parts, anyway. She liked the theory, and Professor Sprout was a warm and kind person, and her thoughts were very comforting. Astronomy bored her, though, and the fact that it took place at night was annoying enough. But that had nothing on the debacle that was Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Quirrell acted the fool, stuttering and stammering his way through classes, stinking of garlic. And yet, he was also capable of Occlumency. That made her wary. He also taught little of value. Alma decided that, with Harry and Hermione at least, and maybe with Ron, they could have a study group.

She learned earlier from older Hufflepuffs that Quirrell had been the Muggle Studies teacher, but had wanted to teach DADA, despite the fact that the position was rumoured to be cursed. Indeed, for decades, no DADA teacher had stayed in the role for more than a year. Despite this, Snape was said to desire the role strongly, and reputedly had a grudge against Quirrell for taking it. Quirrell had taken a year-long sabbatical to get practical experience for the role. Most students thought he had one bad experience too many, with the last straw being an attack by a Hag.

Alma didn't think so. Something stank about Quirrell, aside from garlic.

They accepted an invitation from Hagrid, who wanted to see Harry again. As they had Friday afternoon off, they went to see him. Harry had received the invitation, and Ron and Hermione came with them. Hagrid seemed a bit wary of Alma, but let them all in. As they had tea, Hagrid discussed various topics, like his anger at the Dursleys (having heard about what happened from Dumbledore), the teachers (Ron had a lot to say about Snape, none of it good, thanks to an incident involving Neville screwing up the boil-curing potion and Ron getting the blame), and Ron's brother Charlie, who worked on a dragon sanctuary.

Harry noticed it before Alma did, though Alma did notice Hagrid's thoughts seemed preoccupied with the Philosopher's Stone, as he was when she first encountered him. Harry saw the newspaper clipping about a Gringotts break-in. Alma remembered McGonagall mentioning that Gringotts was supposedly impregnable to thieves. Clearly, someone had managed to do the impossible, though the item in question had been removed before the break-in. And when Hagrid noticed them looking at the clipping, she knew that it was the Stone that had been taken out from his thoughts.

It meant that she would have to do some research on the Philosopher's Stone, and soon. If someone was after the Stone, Alma intended to make sure that they didn't get a hold of it, at least not before she did…

* * *

It was an accepted truism of the universe that Argus Filch was rarely, if ever, happy. A sour, embittered man who made Severus Snape look joyful by comparison, Filch had no love in his life, save for tormenting students, and his cat, Mrs Norris. After all, it was so unfair that he, born to a Pureblood family, was a Squib, and forced to work thanks to the oh-so-generous Headmasters. He was basically meant to be seen as someone doing the cleaning and tidying, even though the House Elves did much of it. He was meant to keep the students in line, so how could that old fart Dumbledore stop him from disciplining them?

He was at his happiest when tormenting students, catching them breaking the rules, and taking points from them. But he would be far happier still if he had the ability to use magic.

That old fool Dumbledore didn't know it, as Filch had enough cunning to conceal it (if he had magic, he would have been a shoe-in for Slytherin), but he had been given a substantial amount of money lately, to keep an eye on Hogwarts, and for two students in particular. Harry Potter, that crotchspawn of that troublemaking bastard James Potter, and an unusual girl called Alma Wade. And they had come this year.

Genevieve Aristide had told him to practise his Occlumency, something he could practise even being a Squib, and he felt confident he was as good as that big-conked sourpuss Snape. And now, she had sent him a substantial amount of money (into a Muggle Swiss bank account, rather than Gringotts), as well as a Portkey. He needed to find a way to have Harry and Alma be holding the Portkey when it activated, along with himself. But then again, he was a master of finding the smallest excuse to punish a person. He would need to bide his time, and wait for the right opportunity.

And soon, he would get the power Genevieve had promised him, the power to use magic, at long last! No more having idiots look down upon him with condescension and pity. Genevieve had promised him that he would be the first to receive the gift of magic to a Squib, after her, which was why he was going with her.

So aroused was his avarice for magic, that he never stopped to consider the consequences of his actions. After all, even if Alma didn't manage to kill him before she was subdued, who was to say that Genevieve would keep up her side of the bargain? After all, many of those in power and prestige are loathe to sharing it.

Filch didn't know it, but the moment he arrived, he was going to be killed and thrown into an incinerator. After all, who would miss a Squib?

 **INTERVAL 10 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry it was a long time coming, and this is one of the stories I won't be updating as frequently, so it'll be a while before the next one. BTW, congrats to Mangahero18, who correctly guessed that Genevieve's mole in Hogwarts is Filch. Squibs are seen as a real underclass in the series, and I'm sure Genevieve would know how to exploit them.**

 **Review-answering time!** **Squadpunk 2.0** **: The latter. She'll basically bring herself back to life through sheer force of will. That's pretty much what she did in the game.**

 **TJG** **: The Horcrux is only a small fragment, so Alma doesn't get all of the memories, just some. She will know about the other Horcruxes, but only a couple of them. She'll teach Harry what skills she managed to learn later, but only if she thinks he can handle them, magically speaking.**

 **Dustiniz117** **: While well-reasoned, there's the financial issues. I think once Sirius Black is exonerated (which will happen later in the story), he will become their guardian. I just had this interesting image of Alma incinerating the portrait of Walburga.**

 **No numbered annotations this time.**


	12. Interval 11: Suffocating

**INTERVAL 11:**

 **SUFFOCATING**

It was during their first weekend that Alma finally got around to meeting Fred and George Weasley properly. She brought Harry along, because when she arranged the meeting, she noted something in their thoughts that was interesting.

Why? Well, during her investigation of Peter Pettigrew's mind, she noted that there were pseudonyms used for his comrades, known collectively as the Marauders. The Marauders were a quartet of pranksters who had terrorised Hogwarts. Sadly, two of them, namely Harry's father and Sirius Black, were unrepentant bullies towards any Slytherins, regardless of whether they were actually related to Death Eaters, with one of the few exceptions being Sirius' cousin Andromeda, due to her marrying a Muggleborn. And when she met up with the Weasley twins again, she heard their thoughts, albeit dimly (they must have practised some small amount of Occlumency), about a Marauders' Map.

They met in a disused classroom near the library, on the Weasley twins' suggestion. "You're the talk of the school, you know," Fred said.

"Alma Wade, the dark-looking girl who got into Hufflepuff," George said.

"And is Harry Potter's friend," Fred added.

"Anyway, you wanted to meet us, so, what can we do for you?"

Alma looked at Harry, before she said, into their minds, _I propose an alliance. I have powers beyond magic. I can help you set up pranks discreetly. But I also want you to show Harry something of his heritage_.

Harry looked at Alma, frowning. "What do you mean, Alma?"

Alma gazed impassively back at Harry, before saying, _Fred, George…how would you like to know the true identities of the Marauders?_

The pair of them gaped, before Fred said, "Please, tell us!"

"We beseech you!" George concurred.

Alma actually laughed out loud. Well, it was more of a soft, rasping chuckle. _I cannot tell you how I know. But I know their real names. Peter Pettigrew was Wormtail. Remus Lupin was Moony. Sirius Black was Padfoot. And James Potter was Prongs_.

The twins stared at each other, and then at Harry. "Could it be that we're in the presence of pranking royalty, Fred?" George asked.

"I think so, George," Fred said, before fishing out a piece of parchment, and handing it to Harry, like it was an offering to a minor deity.

"What is this?" Harry asked, peering at the blank parchment.

Alma gently took the parchment away. _This must be the Marauders' Map. Your father and his friends created this at Hogwarts. It shows many of Hogwarts' secret passages, as well as the locations of staff and students_. She opened it up, and then, rasped out loud, touching the parchment with her wand, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

She had to admit, even seeing it briefly in Pettigrew's memories, watching the images of the Marauders' Map bloom across the blank parchment was amazing, and she could tell Harry was awed as well. "Wow, this is amazing!" Harry whispered. "My dad made this?"

 _Yes, along with his friends_ , Alma said.

"I'm still getting used to you doing that," Fred said.

George nodded. "I mean, we joke about us two being psychic, but, well…"

Alma looked at them. _Being psychic…is not pleasant. As I told your younger brother, imagine hearing the thoughts of everyone within a certain distance_.

"Bloody hell," Fred murmured.

"We'd go spare," George added.

 _That's what Ron said_ , Alma said. _It is maddening. Unpleasant. I am getting better at blocking out the morass of thoughts…but it is still a substantial effort. Harry helps me_.

Harry, to confirm the point, put his arm around Alma's shoulders. "Alma was my first friend. And I was her first friend too. She could never make friends with anyone her age. They considered her too creepy. I admit, I was nervous, even frightened when I first met Alma…but…she wanted to be friends with me. We haven't been apart since."

Fred and George looked at each other, before they remarked simultaneously, "Ginny's going to be disappointed."

"Ginny?"

"Our little sister. She has a bit of a crush on you," George said.

Harry looked over at Alma, who merely said, _He is mine_. There was no actual emphasis in the sentence, no tone on the last word. It was no hammy proclamation, just a simple, quiet statement of reality that was all the more chilling for it.

"Alma, don't melt her or give her nightmares, please," Harry pled.

"Melt her?" Fred asked, his eyes wide.

"She can melt people with a thought," Harry said. "All that's left is a skeleton and a puddle of goo. It's pretty nasty. She did it to a group of people who were going to lock us up and experiment on us."

The twins looked at each other. "Because you were magical?" George asked.

 _Because I was psychic_ , Alma said. _Not all Muggles are like that…but there was a particularly nasty Squib who wanted to find a way to use magic. She also wanted to create psychic soldiers_.

"Dumbledore and McGonagall already know," Harry said. "Keep it to yourselves, though."

Fred and George nodded. "Most Squibs are harmless, even good people, but some are pretty mean," George said.

Fred concurred, "We think Filch, the caretaker, is a Squib. He's a pretty vicious guy."

Alma remembered the sour-faced old man. His thoughts had been foggy, suggesting a certain amount of Occlumency, or at least mental defence. Not actually opaque, but enough that Alma would have to make more of an effort to discern his thoughts. Well, beyond what she saw in his expression: she could tell he viewed the students with contempt and envy, and being a Squib certainly explained this.

"We have a relative who's a Squib. He's an accountant," George added. "He's a nice guy."

"They can't all be bad, next to Filch and Genevieve Aristide," Harry muttered.

"Who?" George asked. "Is that the Squib you were talking about?"

"Yeah, she's the boss of a Muggle company called Armacham," Harry said. "But we don't want to talk about it."

 _And do not talk about it either_ , Alma cautioned them.

"We swear, Marauders' honour," the twins chorused.

* * *

It was not long afterwards that Harry and Alma, while coming out, met Hermione and Ron again. It was in the library, and Alma and Harry had decided to do some quiet reading. As it turned out, Hermione had wanted to do the same thing, while Ron was futilely trying to find an interesting book. Sadly, there were few fiction books in the Hogwarts library, and upon seeing Harry and Alma, opted to talk to him, albeit quietly, as to avoid arousing the wrath of Madam Pince.

Ron was a little annoyed that Harry hadn't gone into Gryffindor, but he supposed Hufflepuff wasn't too bad. And his opinion of Alma had gone up a little since she was in Hufflepuff as opposed to Slytherin.

Alma had given him one of her patented stares at that, before saying, _There is nothing wrong with ambition or cunning, Ronald Weasley. It is only thanks to idiots like Malfoy and Voldemort that Slytherin has the reputation it does_.

"I'm still getting used to you having psychic powers," Hermione said to Alma as she lowered her book on basic Arithmancy to look at them.

Alma shot her a slight smirk. She had been getting better and better at showing some basic human expression beyond her usual impassive mask or a disturbing glare.

"How do they actually work, anyway?" Hermione continued.

Alma frowned. Even her father only knew so much about psychic ability, and he had been one of the top researchers in the world. He had to be, given what his daughter was capable of. _I could give you the knowledge my father had_ , Alma said.

"What, tell me about it?"

"Alma," Harry said gently, knowing what Alma was more likely to do, "Hermione might not like you shoving memories into her mind."

"Would she do that?" Hermione asked, both disturbed and curious.

"If it's quicker than explaining, yes," Harry said. "I'm used to it, but to people who aren't…well…"

After a moment, Hermione said, "Look, I'm not afraid of new things. As long as Alma doesn't hurt me, I don't mind."

"Better you than me," Ron muttered.

Hermione steeled herself, closing her eyes. "I'm ready. Just don't fill my head up too much, please."

Alma didn't respond, merely closing her eyes. She needed to edit the memories of what she got from her father anyway, partly to remove what she had personally done to some researchers, keeping it more to the scientific studies. She then gently entered Hermione's mind, and began transferring the information.

The only outward sign that anything was happening was that Hermione's eyelids were twitching slightly, and her body had become rigid, as if paralysed by a poison. The process took all of a few seconds, and Hermione, once Alma withdrew, shook her head. "Well, that was…interesting. Still not much information, though. Thanks for being gentle, Alma."

Alma nodded in acceptance. Hermione could be annoyingly pedantic and bossy, but she was at least nice enough. And her mind was filled with some interesting knowledge, though out of a courtesy (for Harry's sake more than anything else), Alma didn't touch it. _My father only learned so much about how my powers work before he was murdered_ , Alma said.

"Murdered?" Hermione asked, only the need for quiet in the library preventing her from shrieking it indignantly. Ron's eyes widened.

"It's a long story. Alma's dad died saving our lives," Harry said. His face fell. "Just like my parents did," he added solemnly.

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured. Alma could tell where his thoughts were. He was thinking about how much Harry was idolised, including by Ron himself, but he was reminded at what cost Harry got his fame. Ron was a bit of an idiot, so it took him a while, or at least a reminder, as to what reality was like.

* * *

On the way out from the library, Harry and Alma came across Mrs Norris, Filch's infamous cat. Alma had already encountered the notoriously ornery moggy before, and had outstared the cat. Indeed, while many an animal was frightened of Alma Wade, Mrs Norris was one she actually deliberately put the fear of God…well, Alma, into.

So, all Alma had to do was glare at Mrs Norris for a few seconds. The cat lasted surprisingly long, before turning tail and fleeing with a yowl.

The elation Harry and Alma felt lasted for all of a few seconds before they heard a rasping voice say, "Being cruel to my sweet, are you?"

They whirled to find the bent form of Filch, his face twisted in a cruel mirth. "Well, I think I can think something up for that."

"She didn't do anything, all she did was stare at your cat!" Harry protested, even as Filch reached forward and began frogmarching them down the corridors.

"Animals can tell when someone's up to no good," Filch sneered.

 _We have done nothing wrong_ , Alma said.

"Ones like you have always done somethin' wrong," Filch retorted. "You're serving detention with me."

Alma was panicking, inwardly. While Filch was a notoriously harsh disciplinarian, even he didn't hand out detentions for such a flimsy excuse. Did he have something in for Harry or her? As he pushed her and Harry down the corridor, she decided to actually make an effort to read his mind.

"Hey, whaddya doing, girl?!" Filch snarled. "You doing that creepy psychic trick on me?"

Alma ignored him, though she had to wonder why he called it psychic rather than Legilimency. Most of those who knew about her powers didn't call it psychic ability, and she wasn't sure Dumbledore had talked to Filch about the particulars of her powers.

She pushed harder and harder into his mind. It was difficult enough, but she knew that, even with those who had practised Occlumency, she had the power to bypass those barriers. And Argus Filch had practised Occlumency. The thing was, he hadn't practised it enough. Compared to people like Dumbledore or Snape, who were masters of the art and had practised it for years, Filch, who had been practising it for months at most, was a rank amateur.

And what she saw there shook her to the core. This bastard had been in contact with Genevieve Aristide.

During their time on the run, Alma, because of Harry's requests, had restricted the use of her powers significantly. She rarely invaded the mind of another unless she felt their safety was in peril, and she didn't control or tamper with minds unless it was needed, usually for self-defence (though once they needed to get to England, they did need to do some judicious mind-control to get on a boat across to England). But with the knowledge that Argus Filch had sold them out to the woman who had ruined their lives, Alma Wade had had enough.

She could have knocked Filch out and gone to get a teacher with Harry. That would have caused less comment later. But Alma Wade had a dark streak, a vengeful streak, and knowing what Filch and Aristide had in store for them meant that she intended to kill two birds with one stone.

Her eyes glowed even more than they usually did. Filch let go of the two, emitting a brief, strangled cry, before he stiffened, and began striding down the corridor almost spamodically.

"Alma, what did you do to him?" Harry asked. "Not that I mind, but…"

 _Harry, he sold us out to Genevieve Aristide_ , Alma said, her eyes narrowed, an orange aura flickering intermittently into existence around her. _He was going to take us via Portkey to Armacham_.

Harry quietened at that. "Didn't McGonagall claim that this school was one of the safest places in Magical Britain?"

 _Between what Dumbledore has hidden in this school and what Filch intended, that may not be true_ , Alma said. _That being said, I have eliminated Filch as a danger. I am sending him to Genevieve Aristide_. She looked at Harry. _If this works, neither will be a threat to us anymore_.

Over their mental link, Harry asked, horrified, _You're going to use Filch to kill Genevieve Aristide?_

 _He was going to send us back there, knowing we would be experimented upon_ , Alma said coldly. _Any substantial threat to us must be eliminated_. She hugged Harry to assure him. _I know you don't like this Harry. But I want to keep us safe_.

Harry reluctantly acceded to this. He knew Alma would do whatever it took to keep him safe. And while he was troubled about it…Genevieve Aristide had intended to inflict a fate worse than death on them both. And Filch had sold them out. He said nothing, though. The two just hugged for a time, comforting each other, before moving off…

* * *

At Armacham, Genevieve was woken from her sleep with notification that Filch had arrived in the reception chamber the Portkey had been keyed to…but he had arrived alone. Frowning, she made her way down, to find Filch sitting there on a chair, his posture oddly slumped. They hadn't used the sleeping gas, as they hadn't seen either Alma or Harry appear.

"Filch!" Genevieve snapped. Disgusting, shabby little man. She should have ordered her people to shove him into the incinerator already, she felt like she had fleas just by being near him. "Where the hell are Alma and Potter?"

He looked up at her, his face curiously impassive, impassive in an eerily familiar way. His eyes narrowed. "Still at Hogwarts," Filch said.

"Idiot! How the hell did you manage to not bring them with you?!" Genevieve had more of a diatribe to unleash, but suddenly, with a jerky movement, Filch had leapt off the chair and had borne her to the floor, his fingers wrapped around her throat in a vice-like grip.

As the guards stared, stunned at this, unable to act, Filch hissed, "You tried to put us into the Vault again, Genevieve. I'm going to make sure you don't hurt us or anyone ever again!" His eyes briefly glowed orange, and Genevieve knew, even as her vision began to tunnel, that he was under Alma's control.

Suddenly, there was the loud report of a gun, and the side of Filch's head exploded as a bullet exited it. But Filch continued to throttle her, and it took several more shots before she could, with the last of her strength, kick the corpse off her. Even then, it tried to grasp at her, and the guards kept shooting until all that was left was a twitching pile of meat.

She snarled in anger, even as she tried to get oxygen back into her lungs, kicking the corpse of Filch. After a moment, she wheeled on the guards. "Next time, don't let him nearly kill me before shooting!" she yelled hoarsely, before degenerating into a fit of coughing.

Massaging her throat, she felt the flames of the initial anger dying away, to be replaced by something colder and more lethal. Alma Wade had just declared war. What was more, that stupid little girl had just handed her the means to get her on a platter. After all, the wizarding world took a very dim view of mind control: the Imperius Curse was a one-way ticket to Azkaban.

Of course, if Alma had told any of the authorities about what Genevieve intended, it might be trickier. But Genevieve knew how to play the political game well, and certainly far better than a prepubescent brat. Alma Wade would rue the day that she thought she could defy Genevieve Aristide. Nobody would be able to protect her, not even Albus Dumbledore…

 **INTERVAL 11 ANNOTATIONS:**

 **Holy crap. I'm surprised I managed to write this chapter. I actually had this horrified thought that I would have to abandon this version too. Instead, I managed to squeeze this chapter out. Sorry about the wait, and it may be a long wait before the next one too.**

 **Part of the reason this took so long was that I didn't know how to get Harry and Alma out of being kidnapped by Filch. I eventually plumped for this, but while it may seem like a copout for Alma to be able to breach Filch so easily, I think Alma is actually capable of breaching the barriers of Snape, Voldemort, and even Dumbledore, if she put a concerted effort into it. Alma Wade is a deity in human form, and the only thing holding her back is Harry.**

 **That being said, it occurred to me as I wrote the scene at the end that Alma, in her attempt to send Genevieve a message, may have handed her an opportunity as well. Which means that Genevieve Aristide may yet still be a threat. And given that Alma dealt with Filch in a somewhat lethal manner (albeit indirectly lethal), Dumbledore and Alma are going to be opposed for some time…**

 **Incidentally, if you're a fan of the original story, I'm archiving the existing chapters in _The Cauldron_. It will be deleted at the end of this month (September), so update your favourites.**

 **No numbered annotations this time.**


End file.
